


The Emissary

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [10]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:46:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod is elected as the emissary of the Noldor to Doriath. He hates caves, he hates the Sindar and he hates his task. Everything goes disastrously wrong from the very first day of his stay in Doriath. Things are further complicated by a cryptic Maia, a naive King and a jealous lover. Add a stubborn sister, a Noldor-hating wooer of the said sister and a dozen or so cousins to this mix, Finrod is reasonably sure that he wouldn’t mind morphing into an orc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emissary

“I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere near Doriath!” I hissed at Turkáno as we sparred.

The full sun shone down on his sweating forehead as he parried my blow and leapt back with a snarl. I pressed my advantage, but he beat me back easily.

As we circled each other, wary and defensive, he began speaking, “We need allies, Findaráto.”

“Russandol can ride to Doriath. He’s unnaturally skilled at self-abasement and forgiveness,” I remarked unkindly as I lost ground to his steady attack.

“He would not agree. It is generally held that you are the most reasonable person in our mad family.” Turkáno winked at me before raising his sword in parley.

I nodded my head and dropped my sword at my feet. After a moment, he spoke again. “My father and his favourite nephew are right, you know. We cannot afford more enemies than we have and Elwë Singollo of Doriath is a strong player in this game. Your brothers will nip off any alliance with the Sindar even before it buds. You are the only choice.”

“Thus falls to me what my betters spurn!” I quoted glibly from Russandol’s speech when he had agreed to commandeer the desolation of Himring.**

Turkáno rolled his eyes and muttered, “It is the only way. You know why the emissary has to be one from Arafinwë’s family.”

“Because my coward of a kingly father remains safe in Valinor. Because my mother is kin to Elwë. Because...” I shook my head angrily.

“Because of the kinslaying,” Turkáno finished flatly, his dark eyes shining with suppressed emotion.

“I have killed, Turkáno,” I whispered earnestly. “You know that!”

“I doubt anyone who survived the carnage managed to keep their hands clean of blood.” Turkáno shrugged as if it was not of much consequence. “We need allies. So you will travel to Doriath to meet your Sindar kin.”

×××

Verdant greenery all around me. The whisper of the wind through the trees seemed mysterious and not purely natural. Not for the first time I was unsettled by the rumours of the Maia who protected these woods. Would she know that I had blood on my hands?

“STOP!” a hiss resounded from the treetops and my convoy halted abruptly. My warriors were trying to pinpoint the sound, but from what Atarinkë and Turkáno had told me of their run-ins with the Sindar, I knew that we were no match for them in the woods. 

“I am Finrod, son of Finarfin and I come in peace as the emissary from the Noldor.” I managed to find the right words with some difficulty that arose of my poor knowledge of their uncivilized tongue.

There was a faint rustling amongst the leaves of the trees and we held our breath, our hands on our swords. A moment later, a tall, lean figure stood before us. Sapphire blue eyes measured us warily. I leapt down from my horse and bowed to this person who seemed to be the patrol leader in these parts. 

“Celeborn of Doriath,” he offered after what seemed to be a very long scrutiny. “I shall be your escort to the hidden kingdom.”

“Well met, Lord Celeborn,” I greeted him pleasantly.

I had heard of him from Atarinkë who had told me that this young Sinda was at the head of the Sindarin hunting parties. My cousin had forgotten to tell me the fact that Celeborn was an extremely handsome specimen of their clan. With the lithe build of an archer, he seemed full of easy grace and arrogance. His garments were undoubtedly well-made without being gaudy. The fall of silken silver hair that cascaded down his back was a sight to behold. 

He gave me one of his trademark measuring glances and then whistled. A proud, white stallion emerged from the thicket with none of the whinnying and headtossing that our horses are prone to. Even the mounts of the Sindar seemed to be silent, I wondered amazedly.

“Are you alone?” I asked him as we began to follow him through the woods.

He favoured me with a very patronizing look before saying crisply, “The woods are our friends. I have nothing to fear in them.”

“I see.” I did not see. It was incredulous, how could these mute trees help one when danger pressed?

I kept my opinions to myself, of course. I had nothing to gain by antagonizing the first Sinda I had met. Particularly when the said Sinda seemed to be nursing no deep fondness for me.

“Doriath.” 

His voice was filled with the serene happiness of belonging and homecoming as he waved his hand in a graceful arc. I felt a pang of misery as I thought of my home in the west where I could never return. I am an exile.

×××

I will never forget the first time I rode through the narrow paths of the forest realm. Whispers heralded us as Celeborn led the convoy onwards. I tried to catch glimpses of the people of the realm. But the trees shielded them from the strangers. It was unnerving to be watched without knowing who the watchers were.

Celeborn stopped and dismounted. Several green-clad elves came forward and he directed them to my convoy. He motioned to me silently asking me to follow him. Not for the first time, I wished that I had sent one of my brothers here instead of taking this foolhardy adventure upon myself. To be at the beck and call of these uncultured people went against the very grain of my essence. 

The woods gave way to smoothly hewn caves from solid rock. I could see traces of dwarven work in these caves. 

“Are you not coming in?” Celeborn’s amused voice made me aware of the actual dilemma.

I hate caves and closed spaces. His sardonic gaze assured me that he suspected the fact. Taking a deep breath, I said quietly, “After you, My Lord. Lead the way.”

His gaze widened a fraction. He had probably expected me to balk and shiver in terror. How foolish of him! I cared nothing for caves. In fact, I had a healthy dislike of them. But that did not mean I would give in to my fear. No grandchild of Finwë would.

I tried to lose myself in fantasies starring the haughty creature walking before me. It was an excellent way to pass the time. It gave me the additional bonus of smirking at him whenever he turned around quizzically as if daring me to run away from the dark caves.

×××

We came to a halt finally after what seemed to be hours and hours of walking. My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness and now I was able to discern carvings and rock paintings on the walls. I studied them innocently even as Celeborn threw me a haughty glare before disappearing into the darkness. I could hear his voice in conversation with a lower, milder tone. They seemed to be arguing. 

It was heartening to see that ours was not the only family which quarrelled within and without.

Presently, Celeborn came again and nodded to me. I took it as his way of saying that I had earned an audience with whoever had argued with him.

“Come in, My Lord Finrod,” the mild, musical voice asked me. Raking my eyes over Celeborn’s profile one more time, I stepped into the side cave. I am sure that the haughty Celeborn cursed in the tongue of the dwarves when he noticed my bold gaze.

The cave was brightly lit and warmed. For the first time since I had entered this place, I felt the stirrings of curiosity. Before me, enthroned on a magnificently carved seat was Elwë. His grey, silken tunic glowed in the firelight giving him the appearance of an unearthly creature. He looked younger than his true, ripe-old age. I could see traces of Celeborn in him. But where Celeborn had been haughty and arrogant, Elwë seemed courteous and wise. The depth of knowledge that shone in his eyes made me wonder how long he had lived.

“Welcome to Doriath,” his pleasant voice greeted me warmly. The smile lingering on the curves of his lips prompted an answering smile from me as I bowed to him and returned his greeting.

“Come forward and kiss my Lord’s ring, Lord Finrod.” A harsher voice commanded me. 

I turned to find a young, handsome Sinda watching me warily. Too young to be a counsellor, too uncultured to be a courtier. I wondered if they expected me to kiss an uncivilized woodelf’s ring. Being an emissary was one thing. Being a token servant was another. 

“Now, Eöl! Our customs are not his,” Elwë cautioned the young elf tenderly. 

There was no marked resemblance between the two. But the fond gaze that the King bestowed on him made me realize the connection; lovers. It was confirmed the next instant when the elf called Eöl gazed at the King almost proprietarily. Dear me, if my cousins had been there, we could have had an excellent time dissecting this situation. I definitely planned to enact the scene to my family when I was back at the Mithrim.

“Father!” a melodious voice called out from the inner chambers and Eöl frowned at me as if he wished me to not hear the woman’s voice. 

A moment later, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen to date emerged from the chambers. She resembled her father mightily, but I could see traces of Valinor in her. That was undoubtedly her mother’s legacy. She saw me and blushed, casting her eyes downwards. All my interest in her dissipated instantly. I simply cannot bear naiveté. 

Elwë cleared his throat and said, “Lord Finrod, this is my daughter, Lúthien.”

“My lady,” I smiled politely and knelt to press a kiss to her unresisting hand, “charmed to meet the famed beauty of Doriath. The rumours do no justice to your loveliness, if I may boldly say so.”

She blushed deeply and whispered, “Thank you.” It was heartfelt and sincere. I suppressed an urge to throttle her for her ignorance. She was beautiful, any fool could see that. Had she never looked at herself in the mirror? Really, there is modesty and there is foolish ignorance. I have never had much sympathy with either.

“Eöl, would you please accompany my daughter to her lessons?” The King cut in hastily as if worried that I might spirit away his lovely daughter before his very eyes. 

I stepped back and bowed to the woman. She blushed again and hastily ran to Eöl’s side. Eöl shot me a filthy glare before stalking out, his hand protectively guiding her steps. 

“Lord Finrod,” Elwë began cordially, “would you join me for a repast in my chambers?”

“It would be my greatest pleasure, My Lord.” 

I can be such a sycophant when I want to be...which is probably why my uncle despatched me on this thankless task. I should have at least brought Ecthelion with me. I am sure that he could have devised interesting games to pass my time. 

Elwë proved to be an excellent conversationalist. He probably chafed at the secluded society he moved in and was eager to welcome a stranger. He asked me about my grandfather and about my mother’s folk. I tried to negotiate the thin line between safe truths and unavoidable falsehoods. 

“Tell me about your family,” he commanded over a plate of excellent truffles.

I groaned mentally. This was a question I preferred not to answer. What was there not to tell about the most interesting family one could be born into?

“My parents remain in Valinor. I came east with my uncles.” No point telling him that my mad uncle set fire to the ships we had stolen from the slain Teleri and necessitated a long journey over the Ice. “I am the eldest of my father’s children.”

Hopefully that would be enough, for now. 

“I heard news;” he hesitated worriedly before continuing, “that your uncle is dead.”

I am sure that my uncle would have been killed by his own sons if he had survived the battle. I loved him, of course. But he was extremely mad towards the end. I felt that familiar pang of grief as I thought of what his madness would wreak on us. Russandol was a living testament to it, broken and desecrated by his father’s insanity. 

“I am sorry for broaching a subject that must be extremely painful to you.” A tentative hand brushed my fingers in apology.

“No, no,” I smiled in reassurance. “My uncle’s death has affected us all much,” in the form of dooms and oaths, I did not add that part though.

“I know, to lose a loved one...” he sighed and closed his eyes.

“Indeed.” I felt the blackness that had first risen in me when I had heard news of my grandfather’s death.

“The Queen Melian?” I asked to dispel the heavy silence which had fallen between us. 

He was playing with the food on his plate, clearly unsettled by the unease he had caused me inadvertently. I fought an urge to snort at his discomfort. How could someone as old and wise as him still have compassion? Well, all his compassion would end once he learned of my actual exploits.

“She is deeply engrossed with an experiment.” Elwë pulled himself back from the brown study he had fallen into. “I hope you don’t consider it a discourtesy, My Lord. She is simply single-minded and intends no disrespect.”

I looked up. His blue eyes were flecked with sincerity and concern. I hid my gulp with a sip of wine. He was utterly sincere. I could not believe it. Such sincerity was far beyond my ken. 

“You would have done better to welcome my cousin, Nelyafinwë, into Doriath,” I muttered as I reverted my gaze to the wine feeling utterly at a loss. 

How was I to negotiate with someone as simple as this woodland King? He believed blindly in the goodness of all elves. He did not suspect the blood that stained my hands.

“But you are my kin, Lord Finrod.” He spoke earnestly, I noticed. It just added to my general discomfort. Would he call himself my kin if he knew the truth? He continued, “I thought I would meet you before meeting your cousins. I have heard several conflicting rumours about the circumstances of your arrival. I would have your opinion on them.”

This was the tricky part. How would I explain the interesting circumstances of our arrival? 

The sweet sound of Lúthien’s voice rose in the dreary caves. Elwë smiled as he leant back in his chair, his eyes half-closing as he drifted into his daughter’s music.

“She is said to be the greatest singer on this side of the sea,” he opined softly.

“My cousin, Macalaurë, is extremely good,” I said without embellishment. Lúthien was an excellent singer. But nobody could match the fire in my cousin’s voice. Molten gold, that is how my uncle had described his son’s voice. But I could not risk being an ungracious guest. I leavened my words, “I am sure that you know of it, but I confess that your daughter is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

He frowned as he leant forward, his eyes clouded in conflict as he said, “My daughter has not seen much of the outside world. We raised her in an extremely sheltered environment. Your compliments, kind as they were, I fear that they might have unsettled her...”

He seemed to be hunting for words to broach the matter. There was something highly endearing about the creases on his forehead as he frowned in deep thought. 

“I believe that you are trying to ask me if I hold any secret intentions in the matter of the Lady Lúthien,” I smiled at his startled eyes.

“I have never been in the situation before,” he explained with a troubled sigh. “My daughter is young.”

“Please don’t unsettle yourself over this, My Lord. There is no reason at all!” 

I suppressed a laugh at his honest turmoil. Well, I could be frank and rest his fears. I certainly did not want him shadowing me all the time I spent in his realm. “I admit that your daughter is beautiful. Her beauty can melt the coldest heart. But my admiration is merely that, admiration. I loved a woman in Valinor. I have vowed never to love again.”

“Oh.” He sipped his wine embarrassedly. “I am sorry for having even suggested the matter. Would you forgive the concern of a doting parent?”

“Of course,” I put on my politest smile. This was going to be a very long negotiation.

“If you don’t mind, may I ask you a personal question?” He was very curious. I mentally decided to resign from the position of being the official Noldorin emissary to Doriath.

I nodded wearily. Perhaps he would ask about Losgar, or about the exile. I would have answered him flawlessly if I was not bone-weary to the core from my long journey.

“Why didn’t your woman come east with you?” Guilt at invading my privacy warred with honest curiosity. 

I wondered. I had loved Amarië. She had been wilful, kind and passionate. Nobody could call her beautiful. Indeed, my mother had frowned down on the union because of Amarië’s plainness. But I had persisted in my wooing. We had decided to troth ourselves to each other after the return of Fëanáro to Tirion. 

 

“Must you go?” She had asked as we stood beneath the large awning of my grandfather’s palace. 

My throat refused to work properly as I knelt before her and took her hands in mine. 

“Ask her,” Russandol had told me when I had spoken to him. “Ask her if she will accompany you to a future in the east.”

“Will you marry me?” I begged her, bringing her hands to my lips. She would. She would. I believed that she would.

“Findaráto...” the brief pause told me everything. How I wished that I had not looked up into her eyes the next instant! 

“Never mind,” I croaked as I slithered fast to my feet and turned away. “Farewell, my de--,”I broke off and ran away.

 

One of the many costs that Morgoth has claimed. 

Elwë was still watching me with mild concern. I cleared my throat and began to speak, “She was the only woman I loved. But it was not enough.”

A spasm of pain crossed his handsome, wise features and he made to apologize again. But I hastily intervened, “It has been a relief to tell someone, actually. Thank you, for your kindness.”

I hated him for causing me pain, for making me relive the past. But diplomacy decreed that I pretend to be in his debt for the appalling tactlessness he had shown.

“It was no kindness,” his eyes sparkled in pure warmth. “I am your kin, Lord Finrod. It is my greatest honour to be of service to you in these lands.”

“My King? The hour grows late.” It was Eöl. I returned his dark glare with equal vehemence. 

Elwë seemed unaware of the frostiness and said lightly, “I will not need your services this night, Eöl.”

The chamber door swung shut with a thud as Eöl strode out. Elwë turned in his chair, his expression honestly bewildered. I wondered how such a wise ruler could be so dense in these matters.

“I must-” he began again.

I cut in hastily before he could apologize, “There is nothing to apologize for. It was lover’s pique.”

Elwë rose to his feet abruptly, his eyes wide and his mouth parted open. His hands were shaking and the red wine he had upset flowed down the front of his tunic. I stared at him in plain incomprehension and alarm.

“You know?” he managed to whisper.

I was entirely at the end of my tether. With the performances of lovey-dovey sweetness that Eöl and he had graced each other with, did they expect me to be blindly oblivious? I met Elwë’s frightened gaze. Apparently, they did.

With a deep-suffering sigh, I said gently, “It was obvious, My Lord. Do you prefer that we forget this conversation? I am extremely sorry to have spoken so.”

“No,” he assured me as he mopped his clammy forehead. “It is merely that I am not used to such observant people. So...” he met my eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the table, “am I to understand that you don’t hold such things in disgust?”

Eru, this endearingly naive King should be invited to our household for a week. I am sure that all his naïveté would abruptly end.

“My cousin Nelayfinwë, whom your people call Maedhros, he has a saying: The Laws of the Gods cannot rule the passions of our hearts. I find that encompasses my views on the topic,” I said with a warm smile, trying not to upset him with more of my forwardness.

“Your cousin is wise for his years, no doubt.” 

Elwë refused to meet my eyes. He seemed flushed and distinctly uncomfortable. I wondered why he should be. He was not innocent. He was happily involved with Eöl. His queen and daughter had endorsed the relationship. Why would he be uncomfortable? 

“I regret making that observation,” I tried to make him at ease. “I intended to cause you no discomfort.”

He met my eyes and asked me curiously, “Have you known anyone who has such inclinations?”

My family could compile an epic on ‘inclinations’. I thought about the many scandals that had rocked our family. Definitely, my uncles were at the top of the list. Though Irissë and Tyelkormo came a close, close second... 

 

“Cousin!” Tyelkormo hissed as he pulled me into the bushes, “Run home and get me a pair of breeches!”

“Whatever happened to yours?”I asked him amusedly, my eyes roving over his handsomely built frame.

“Don’t be so damn voyeuristic!” He retreated to the privacy of a bush. “Just get me something!”

“You did not answer my question,” I reminded him.

“Irissë took it.” He gazed adamantly at some point over my left earlobe.

“What?” I stared at him.

“Her gown and my shirt flew off in the wind...when we were, ah, erm, otherwise occupied,” he was blushing furiously.

“She went home in your breeches?” I felt as if the world was coming to an end.

“Yes,” he admitted, “though there was the cloth my mother had used to wrap our picnic in. I told her we should wait for someone. She was impatient...you know how impatient she can get.”

I tried valiantly not to imagine Irissë in nothing but breeches and a picnic wrapper. But Tirion will never forget the sight she had made that day. 

 

“I know many possess such inclinations, such things are not frowned upon in our race.” There, I was finally lying. Such things are frowned upon. But our family has always had lax morals and laxer conventions.

“Do you-” he began the next question, the inevitable question. His damned curiosity would be the end of me.

Impatient and tired, I spoke harshly, “Yes, I have. I loved a woman once. Now I prefer my own gender. Call me a turncoat, call me a coward, anything! I am tired of answering your bumbling questions and then trying to spare you your discomfort with the most basic thing in life! I am what I am, Lord King, and I am proud of it. I am grateful that it is so. I would loath to be as you, want it and yet feeling disgusted by it!”

He remained stunned into silence as I walked out of the chamber. It was dark all around. I did not particularly care. I walked and walked deeper into those large passageways until I had utterly lost my sense of direction. With a grunt, I collapsed onto the cave floor and buried my pounding head into my hands. 

What wouldn’t I give to return to my uncle’s camp on the shores of the Mithrim? I would rather be an emissary to the dwarves.

 

**Reference to The Journal of Nolofinwë, Chapter Nine.

* * *

“May I walk with you, My Lord?” I asked Thalion.

He gave me an appraising glance before nodding. I fell into step beside him quietly pondering the request I wanted to make. 

“THALION!” 

Oropher’s voice resounded in the echoing corridors. I patiently resigned myself to a long wait as Thalion rushed to Oropher’s side without sparing me even the slightest apologetic glance. 

A month of emissary life at Doriath had taught me the equations of Elwë’s court. There was Elwë, the compassionate, balanced beautifully by Melian, the prudent. There was Celeborn’s Noldor-hating coterie and the Oropher-led pragmatic nobles. As much as it heartened me to see factions in the Sindar stronghold, I have to admit that their conflicts were usually mellow debates. Among them, only Celeborn had a healthy dose of sarcastic vitriol to spare in these arguments. I am sure that he was a Noldo in spirit for all that he claims to hate us.

Thalion is the royal healer of Doriath. Steeped in age, wisdom and compassion, he is Oropher’s greatest ally. At times, I suspect a certain deeper aspect to their dealings. But I am sure that if at all there is desire, it is purely on the healer’s side. Oropher is a lover of women, through and through. 

Celeborn is an enigma. He sleeps rather indiscriminately with both genders. But I have a feeling that he takes after his cousin. Women soften his sharp tongue. 

Melian and I often converse in Quenya. Not that I look forward to these conversations. She has a way of making one exceedingly frustrated and confused by her cryptic manner of speech. I wonder how Elwë married her. But as I have come to understand, he is incredibly naive. A doting father, a doting husband, a doting King and definitely a doting lover. The dotard! If not for his wise wife, he would have lost kingdom and roof long ago.

“I am sorry,” Thalion smiled as he rejoined me. “There has been a minor altercation between Celeborn and Eöl. I must go to them now.”

“Of course,” I smiled back. 

I would have to make a prior appointment to see this healer again. He was the busiest person in the realm. I wondered if the lines of care on his forehead had ever been absent since he had taken up this profession. He might have a better chance in persuading Oropher if he were to stop hiding behind his healer-ly facade.

“You were about to ask me something?” he asked apologetically.

“It shall wait, Lord Thalion.”

×××

“I know.” Melian was telling me.

“I suppose I am supposed to ask you what you know,” I said disinterestedly as I played with the pebbles I had collected.

“The circumstances of your arrival,” she said quietly.

I looked up into her calm, wise eyes. She spoke the truth. Somehow or the other, she knew. Then I remembered. Snatches of the letter I had from Macalaurë flashed in my mind.

“...Russandol made a clean breast of it to Círdan. He believes that the mariner will not judge us. I understand that my absence from his realm has caused my brother to seek other confidants. Círdan is a noble soul. But I am worried that he might feel compelled to inform Elwë, who is the acknowledged ruler of the Sindar. Please do be on your guard, cousin. Among other news, I am gleeful to inform you that...”

“Círdan told you.” It was not a question. My all too noble cousin would have given the mariner the pure, unadulterated version. Seriously, Russandol did not belong in our family.

“You are right.” She smiled enigmatically. “But one does not need epistles from a lovesick mariner to smell the taint upon your hands.”

Lovesick mariner? I tried to picture the austere Círdan in love with anyone. Incongruous really. Perhaps there was some essence in the lurid rumours regarding Russandol? Macalaurë had seemed slightly condescending when talking of Círdan. It did remind me of my cousin’s scorn of Findekáno. 

Back to matters of deeper import. She knew the truth. She knew the entire truth.

“What do you intend to do?” 

My voice was brave, not the tiniest betrayal of my thudding heart was evident. I met her gaze calmly. She would tell Elwë. It would all end. My family would not have the aid of these uncivilized elves in our cause. So be it.

“They are not uncivilized,” she said with deep conviction.

“I don’t care. It is over. If they would be of no aid to my cause, then I care not what they are.” I spoke plainly.

“I will not tell them.” Ahe stepped forward and took my hands in hers. With any other woman, this would be interpreted as a gesture of solace. But with Melian, I feared. It was unlike her to practice charity for charity’s sake.

“But?” I prompted her wearily. I was heartily tired of the whole charade. 

“Why would I seek to set fire to a haystack when it is already aflame?” she mused aloud.

I did not even attempt to decipher her meaning. The apt comparison of our family to fire not withstanding, I suspected that she had implied something different. 

“You will not tell the King,” I clarified.

“I shall not. It is only fair to let you have a gaming chance, I daresay.” 

On that enigmatic note, my conversation with the fair lady of Doriath ended.

×××

“Oh, Lord Finrod, would you please fetch my father for me?” she asked so politely that I could not refuse. 

The dares of the court, I sighed petulantly as I went to seek out Elwë. I had been coerced by Lúthien into accompanying her to the gardens that day. We had been overrun by a gaggle of simpering women. It was undoubtedly prearranged. They watched in wicked glee as Lúthien ‘put me through my paces’ as Macalaurë would have disdainfully termed it. 

 

“You hold no great reverence for women!” I complained as he snidely commented on the smudge of paint I had on my cheek after kissing my sweetheart.

“Women!” he scoffed as he set his harp chords into a tangy tune, “I must say that they are the greatest distraction to the pursuit of truth!”

“Yes, well!” I rolled my eyes. “Nolofinwë and your father certainly seem to think so. Are they any nearer the so-called truth?”

He glared at me frostily before saying with calm dignity, “I am sure that they are still in pursuit of the truth.”

“Pursuit of each other, more like.” I shrugged. “But do you really make all these pert comments about women when you are in my sister’s bower?”

He blushed. But he met my gaze determinedly and said in the usual, frank tone, “I love her, Findaráto. Anyone who knows her can do nothing but love her. She is not one of womankind. She is, as Eru stands witness, The Woman.”

 

He had often waxed eloquent on my sister’s qualities. I believe that they were in love. What had happened? They seem to have parted on amicable terms after Macalaurë’s marriage to Carnilótë. I often wondered why he had not asked Artanis’s hand in marriage. She would have consented, I am sure of it. Perhaps, he felt (rightly so) that she deserved somebody who could love her full-heartedly. And all of us knew where Macalaurë’s heart lay.

My deep musings had carried me to the King’s door. I remembered my errand and knocked softly. The unfortunate thing about stone doors was that the sound did not carry through them. I hesitated wondering if I should enter. Then Lúthien’s face flashed through my mind. I did not want to disappoint her. She was too innocent and too adorable to be disappointed. 

“YOU ARE MOONSTRUCK BY THE DAMN KINSLAYER!” Eöl’s voice was, to say the least, very audible.

I stopped in my tracks. Part of me wanted to disappear from Doriath to Ecthelion’s bedchamber. Suitable distractions could be found there. Part of me wanted to stay and listen to what the naive King thought of the kinslayer currently in residence.

“He is not a kinslayer, Eöl!” The naïveté was in full force. “Merely because we hear rumours about his cousins’ doings does not make him one.”

“WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING HIM? YOU SHOULD CALL HIM AND ASK HIM ABOUT THE TRUTH OF THESE RUMOURS!” Eöl was shouting furiously. In his place, I would have probably shaken some commonsense into the King.

“He is my kin, Eöl!” The mildness that characterized Elwë’s voice seemed frayed. 

“You desire him in your bed.” The low hiss was just as potent, if not more than any of the previous shouted accusations.

I expected Elwë to balk at this sentence and then launch into a fiery tirade about what he thought of such practices. He did not. I was stunned. A moment later, Eöl stormed out past me, his fiery eyes not even noticing me.

I took a deep breath. I needed to consider this new disturbance to the equilibrium. Damn Sinda! Why did he have to desire me? I could not afford to be the brunt of Eöl’s ire. My uncle was pressing me to make an advance with the negotiations. I was sick of Doriath. All I wanted to do was to finish the negotiations and never return. 

Why did Elwë want me now?

×××

The spat between the king and his lover cast a gloom over the court. Bitter accusations were flung forth and back. I was subject to cold glares and cruel whispers whenever I passed a loyal Sinda in the corridors. They seemed to think that I was trying to worm my way into the King’s bed to make my negotiations successful. I shudder to think what my uncle would have remarked if he had heard of these happenings. That a Finwion would need to bed someone to obtain his ends!

“Would you sup with me this night?” 

Things were not helped at all by a persistent King’s attempts to know his kin better. To his credit, he still believed the best of me. Melian looked down upon the whole affair with aloof amusement. Lúthien spent her days trying to reconcile Eöl and Elwë. This, I take it, was nigh impossible. Eöl was a terribly possessive soul. I doubted that anything other than Elwë’s public apology would suffice. 

I digress. Right then, I had an optimistic Elwë peering over my shoulder as I studied a map of the caves. 

“It is my greatest pleasure,” I replied balefully as I turned to face him. 

It was pure torment to sup with him. He was a curious soul and would continually ask me questions. On more than one occasion, I was forced to lie. Whoever said that elves do not lie did not take me into account.

I was worn out. I was irritable. I was an utter lout. All that did not prevent Elwë from being the most charming host on this side of the sea. He took care to see that my goblet remained full and pressed me to try the many delicacies that littered the small table meant for two. I wondered why Melian never graced the table.

“Are you homesick?” A kind enquiry, sincere and curious.

I suppressed the urge to throttle him. Home...Tirion, my father, Amarië and many more memories I did not want to relive at all.

“Your kin have been sending you missives with increased frequency these days,” he pressed on. “Any ceremony scheduled?”

I thought hard to think of a feasible excuse to escape Doriath. Nothing came to mind. So I settled for a polite smile and met his gaze warmly saying, “I would not tire of your hospitality, My Lord. I miss my family. But I cherish this visit equally.”

“We are family.” The King smiled and reached across to grip my forearm. 

I tried not to fidget at the invitation in his eyes. Was he employing his own brand of innocent seduction on me? If so, I was hard put to resist. His eyes were warm and lustrous in the firelight. The pearls that adorned his green tunic shone with a rich, dull sheen complimenting his fair complexion. He noticed my gaze and pulled back his arm hastily. A swallow displayed to me the beauty of his throat. 

“My Lord Finrod?” It was quiet and tense with nervous anxiety.

I glared at him. His eyes held worry and a tinge of fear. I bit my inner cheek as I tried to stop the fiery anger that rose in me. The naive idiot did not truly realize that he was trying to seduce me? Or was this too a part of his act? So that, all said and done, he could bleat to Eöl about how I had initiated the proceedings? I was damned if I would let my diplomatic mission be aborted because of lust. 

Wiping off a trickle of sweat from my forehead, I raised the goblet to my lips and drunk down the contents at one go. I needed fortification for this supper. 

“I married Melian because we shared a dream; of making a kingdom that would last without the protection of the Valar. We wanted to prove that we could. Those days were heady. We were young and determined.” He paused to take a sip of his wine.

I leant back and listened in growing curiosity. I had often wondered about his marriage. He offered me a quirky smile and continued, “There was love, you realize. We loved each other though it was not as enduring a love as Finwë and Míriel had. After building Doriath, we settled. I suppose that was when we felt incompatible. There was never any discord. Once Lúthien was old enough to make her own decisions, we no longer had a uniting factor. Melian drifted into her pursuits and I remained a bored soul until Eöl came.”

“I take it that you are bonded to him?” I asked quietly. His eyes had sparkled when he had mentioned Eöl’s name.

“No.” He shrugged and placed his goblet back on the table before steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them. “As you may have noticed, Eöl is incredibly touchy. He will not hear of bonding until he thinks that he has proved himself worthy of it.”

“An inferiority complex,” I murmured, “something that nobody in my family has suffered from. I am thankful for that.”

He smiled at that and asked, “And you, My Lord, were you bonded to her?”

 

“Findaráto, please!” Russandol sniffed in reproof as I drunkenly sobbed out my heart on his shoulder. “I am sure that I can speak to her and persuade her. She will be somewhere in the harbour. Findekáno spotted her during the fray.”

“How will your intervention help when my pleas didn’t? She was in love with me,” I said stricken, “not in love with you! Though the question is that if she had ever loved me!”

Around us, they were recouping after the massacre at Alqualondë. I could see Nolofinwë and Macalaurë trying to persuade a shaking, white-faced Fëanáro to wipe off the blood from his sword. I looked down at my hands. Stained with blood. Russandol pulled me to him and I saw that his hands were equally tainted. The poor ale that I had indulged in made me vomit all over his robes. I closed my eyes in misery.

“Were you bonded?” he whispered as he held my tremor-wracked body. 

I inhaled sharply; the scent of blood, sweat and vomit made me sick again. 

“Findaráto?” His voice held the faintest trace of worry.

“She said she loved me. She said she would marry me. But to actually bond, she wanted me to give up my family.” It was the most disconsolate confession I have made. “She said that insanity tainted our family. She wanted nothing to do with that. Unless I gave up my lineage, she would not bond with me.”

He did not reply, but a sharp gasp hastily disguised as a cough told me much. I dug my face into his tangled hair and clung to him as he soothed me with nonsensical words, telling me that it would be all right. We could hear Macalaurë calling aloud for Artanis. All around us were screams and shouts. 

It would not be all right. It would never be all right.

 

“We were not bonded, Lord Elwë,” I said quietly.

“You are young.” His voice held compassion, wistfulness and wisdom. “You will find love again.”

“I am sure that I shall not. I have better things to do than to search for love.” That should be enough to put him off the subject. 

Elwë nodded quietly, fingering a pearl button of his tunic. Then he whispered, “I would be honoured if you called me by name. We are kin.”

I understood what he wanted, an equal. Eöl treated him as a liege lord. Elwë did not want that. He wanted to be free from the trappings of royalty, to be just what he was. I scrutinized his handsome features. The wistfulness that hung like a cloak about him was rather alluring. He was nowhere as potent as Ecthelion was. But I could not deny that Elwë had his own brand of charm. If he wanted equality, I would try to fulfil his wish as long as I remained in Doriath. It would not hurt my cause.

“I would be honoured to, Elu.” 

The Sindarin name was rough and uneven on my tongue. But he looked up with gratitude. I could understand. Melian treated him as a subordinate. Eöl treated him as a superior. There was no equality. 

He smiled wanly and rose to his feet. I leant back in my chair and watched him through half-lidded eyes. I wondered if there were night courtesans in Doriath. If so, I was in pressing need of their services. Perhaps I should ask Thalion. These evenings with Elwë did nothing to dampen my libido. 

“Would you lend me the aid of a steadying shoulder till I reach my chambers?” he asked me quietly, his eyes cast down as he examined the carpet. “I find that my reflexes are dulled by the rich wine.”

The classic submissive posture, I noted distractedly. Next to naïveté, what irked me the most was submission. So far, Elwë had exhibited all the qualities that I hated in a bedpartner. Then why did I rise and walk to the door? Why did I hold it open and place my fingers protectively on his wrist. I could feel the pulse throbbing in his vein. It excited me. A glance at him showed his darkened eyes as he walked unsteadily. A subtle leaning in, so that I had to take a portion of his warm, heavy weight. A hand insidiously weaving its way about my waist. 

 

“The fool.” Turkáno cursed as we watched Macalaurë aiding Russandol to descend the steps. 

Russandol was leaning heavily on his brother, his sole hand gripping Macalaurë’s midriff. He was concentrating entirely upon the ground beneath his feet, agony pinching his features. He did not see the pained expression that flickered for a moment on Macalaurë’s features. He did not certainly notice the flush covering Macalaurë’s high cheekbones. 

I wondered who the real fool was. Was it Russandol for remaining blind to his brother’s desire? Or was Macalaurë the prize fool for loving one whom he could never touch as he craved to?

 

We had reached Elwë’s bedchamber. I opened the door and stood back. He stepped in and looked at me. There was want, there was fear and there was disgust. I decided that both of us could profit considerably from a discreet one-night stand. He did not seem the sort who would ill-treat former lovers. We had not been noticed by anyone. He would probably want a quick conclusion and throw me out of his chambers, which suited me just fine. Perhaps his innate disgust would even help my cause: he might speed up the negotiations and let me return to Mithrim faster.

Boldly, I stuck my foot to prevent the door closing as he pushed it shut. His eyes widened and he gulped. I suppressed an irritated sigh. I hated submissive partners. One night, I decided, just one night. I could do it.

He drew back his foot and let his hands fall from the door. We watched each other for a moment, our breaths harsh and uneven. Then he let his eyes drop to the floor. I stepped into the chamber and nudged the door shut after me. He took a step back. His chest was now rising and falling rapidly. 

I have never cared much for foreplay. But I knew instinctively that he would prefer it. For the first time in my life, I was thinking of what my partner would like. Eru! Russandol and Nolofinwë were going to find another emissary to Doriath the next time! I would wash my hands clean of this. 

I leant against the door and said quietly, “You will tell me if I go far. Otherwise you will not speak. Do we have an understanding?”

His eyes were round in astonishment and his lips trembled as he comprehended my words. Would he back out? I hoped not. It would merely cause a lot of discomfort in our daily dealings. To my utter relief, he nodded shakily. 

How did one go about such things? To me, it was simple and transcendental, a meeting of bodies and souls. For him it seemed to be about losing control and escaping into a fantasy where he could be free of his duties. Did we have a common ground? No. I looked at him. He was staring at the floor, pliant and quiet. He trusted me. 

“I want you to forget that I am in this chamber. I want you to think that you are alone. You are weary after a long day in court. What would you do?”

He glanced at me in plain incomprehension. I gazed back at him flintily and repeated, “Forget that I am here, Elu. What would you do?”

“I....” he faltered. “I take off my boots. I like to feel the carpets under my bare feet. I am sorry,” he added hastily. “It seems stupid.”

It did not. It struck something within me. How often had I come after hunting expeditions to throw off my boots and curl my toes in the plush carpets of my father’s house in Tirion?

“Do it.” I commanded him. 

A faint seep of red coloured his neck as he nodded and bent down to remove his boots. I watched the graceful arc of his spine. Eöl was lucky. 

“What do you do after this?”

His breathing hitched and he did not reply. His fingers shakily made their way to the front of his tunic. Buttons came undone exposing a toned, fair chest. I felt desire fogging my senses. Ecthelion and I had never taken the time to explore the hedonistic attractions of undressing. It had always been quick and efficient. The tunic fell to the floor, leaving his torso haloed in the dim, flickering torchlight. I did not take my eyes off him. My scrutiny resulted in his increased respiratory rate. 

“And then?” I wonder how unlike myself I sounded.

He stiffened for an instant before exhaling his tension in one long breath. He did not meet my eyes as he fumbled with the ties on his breeches. When he straightened, I was still staring at the clothes pooled about his ankles. He stepped out of them unsteadily. 

My eyes ran over his quivering form greedily. I had never imagined that I would like such activities. His eyes were still cast down and a faint crimson covered his skin. It dampened my desire. I did not want him if he was afraid. I did not want fear. 

“Look at me,” I whispered. 

He did not. He closed his eyes imploringly, voicing silently the request that he could not bring himself to make. I sighed audibly prompting a flinch from him. 

“Elu.” 

My voice broke hoarsely on his name as I devoured his form with my eyes. It worked. He opened his eyes and met my gaze uneasily. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Fine tremors wracked his body. I felt a surge of protectiveness rise in me. He craved tenderness. He craved a loss of control. I would give him all that I could.

Walking to his side, I opened my arms. He sighed gratefully as he stepped into my embrace. A hiss escaped him as his sensitive skin brushed against the rough material of my clothes. I ran my fingers soothingly down his back coaxing a hastily stifled groan from him. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath warming my skin. His fingers dug into my shoulders as we embraced in abandon. 

We stood there, panting and yet content. A sense of calm that I had rarely felt was washing down on me. Perhaps I should indulge in these activities more frequently. He threw his head back, exposing his flushed neck. His eyes held that mute, helpless request. I gripped him tighter and bowed my head to taste the trickle of sweat that ran down his neck. His fingers curled painfully into the flesh of my shoulders and I pushed him back down onto the carpet. We ended up in a heap of tangled limbs, with my body atop his supine one. 

“May I, please?” his voice broke as his fingers trembled over the laces of my tunic. 

I did not reply. I was too guiltily enjoying the contrast between my clothed form and his nude one. I held his arms away with my right hand while letting my left hand roam over his torso. He gasped and arched as my explorations became too intense for his comfort. I gazed down at his flushed form and decided to employ a time-proven technique. 

The first swirl caused him to lift his hips upwards madly. I held him down forcefully and brought my tongue once again to trail down the path from his navel. His abdominal muscles clenched and unclenched as he fought to break the hold of my restraining hands. Low, guttural groans added fuel to my lust. I increased my ministrations, making him writhe and curse. An inventive twist made him stiffen and spend. 

I held him as he shuddered in the aftermath of his descent. His eyes were bright and lustrous as he met my gaze wonderingly. His body shivered as I soothed his tensed muscles. 

I had not felt such intense lust even when I had lain with Amarië. Perhaps I was one of those hypocrites who sniff in disdain at these games only to find that they are quite susceptible to them. I would have to think more upon that once I left these chambers. As his breathing slowly steadied, I wondered how I would take my leave. 

 

“I should leave!” I heard Turkáno whispering in Atarinkë’s tent. Was it my imagination or did he really sound hoarse?

“Stay.” Atarinkë’s voice had none of its usual haughtiness. It seemed mellow and warm, I realized in shock.

Turkáno grumbled sarcastically, “There’s nothing I can deny you, of course.” But beneath the sarcasm was a world of unvoiced feelings. 

“Stay.” It was a whisper, commanding and pleading at the same time.

“I shall.”

 

“Thank you.” 

His voice was quiet and still held a trace of raw emotion. Macalaurë was right. We are all base creatures inhabiting noble forms. It did not take much to reduce us to the primal side of our souls. 

“I should leave.” I supplied the words dutifully. The expected words, of course. He was satisfied. I had not endangered my goals. Mutual accomplishment.

He looked up at me nervously. I stopped my fingers that were still soothing his skin. 

“I am aware that you did this merely to further your interests.” His voice had returned to its normal polished veneer. “But--”

“Don’t!” I cut in angrily, withdrawing my fingers. “If I had wanted to bed you to seal this alliance, I could have tried to do so long before this.”

“So you did not want it?” He pushed himself up, his eyes grave and cold.

Nettled my nerves, this naively endearing king. 

I sighed and pulled him down again explaining ill-naturedly, “No. That is to say, I did not want to bed you to seal the alliance. I understand it was just a single night for you. Eöl is your lover and probably suits you more than I ever can. I must return to my kin, of course. But I swear that this night means a lot to me. Before this, I have never fretted so over what my partner might like.”

“Stay.” He did not meet my eyes.

“For tonight, I will.” 

We did not speak more. He settled beside me, his eyes thoughtful and distant. After a few moments, I cleared my throat and tentatively placed my hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot up to meet mine. I was clueless in this situation. I cursed myself and decided to write to Russandol the next morning. He could find someone else for this task. Then I lost my thread of thought as he inched closer, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he debated something within his mind.

“May I?” his lips hovered over mine. 

 

I held her close to me. I could smell her sweet scent as our lips drew nearer. With a coy, tinkling laugh, she broke free and ran away. I cursed and ran after her. The wind blew through her rich clothes, making her as resplendent as a butterfly. Her hair tickled my face as I finally caught her. We were both breathless as I pressed my lips to hers.

 

I had never kissed after that. I could never bring myself to it.

He seemed to realize my reluctance and nodded simply before turning away. No reproof. Just plain understanding. It was then that I really stopped thinking. I forgot that he was naive, I forgot that it was a one night affair, I forgot that he was a Sinda. 

“Elu?”

He turned to meet my gaze curiously.

My heart gave a ridiculous little leap as I saw the expression in his eyes. He smiled and cupped my face with his hands. A chaste press of his warm lips to my forehead made me sigh contentedly.

For the first time since I had left Valinor, I drifted into a dreamless slumber. I suppose the warm body that I snuggled into and the warmer hands that held me close had something to do with it. 

 

 

 

 

 

×××

* * *

“Seeing that you were merely waiting to find someone you desired more, I know that I have no option but to leave. I will remember your court as the place where I discovered the magic of love and as easily, lost faith in it. I will remember you as the bored ruler who used me, betrayed me and discarded me. But I will probably never bring myself to hate you. I pity you. Have you fallen as low as to invite a kinslayer to bed? If so, it is your doom that you have wrought.”

 

“The border patrols let him leave?” I asked incredulously as I reread the scrap of parchment. 

“I believe that they understood and sympathized with his reasons.” 

Celeborn’s haughty voice offered me no reassurance at all. But then, he has never been fond of me. I glanced at Oropher, who looked pensive and worried. I was worried myself. I was frightened of what Elu would say when he learnt of Eöl’s actions. Damn Sinda, I cursed the King, I had already begun calling him ‘Elu’ instead of Elwë. An unfortunate side-effect of spending a night with him?

I had sold my body for this alliance, if one viewed it in that spirit. I knew the circumstances were complicated. But to have come so far and then to lose every ounce of the trust Elu had in me? I should never have come here. A redundant observation, of course.

The best option was to cloak myself with diplomacy. What would Russandol do under such circumstances?

“How did he know?” I asked politely. 

I would have made a marvellous actor in those sentimental, family sagas that my father and his friends used to stage as dramas for the festivals in Alqualondë. Not once did they stage the dramas in Tirion. I believe it was because they realized that no writer could possibly put together a greater drama than the one our family went through on a daily basis.

Celeborn said with a deep, affected sigh that simply enhanced his haughtiness, “Cousin, I you must speak. I cannot bring myself to it.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. From what I knew of Celeborn, he was extremely inured to scandal. 

Oropher cleared his throat and told me kindly, “He came to the King’s chambers at dawn.”

“I see.”

It was quite damning. Why hadn’t I left once he had fallen asleep?

 

I watched the handsome features, so relaxed by sleep. I knew I should leave. We could not risk discovery. It would destroy all my schemes. I had to think of the arguments for the alliance proposals. They would be presented in the court of Doriath soon. 

He threw his hand over my chest companionably, still deep in the clutches of sleep. I lost track of all my schemes and settled quietly to watch him. Strange tendrils of affection rose in me as I placed my fingers over his torso to feel the falling and rising of his chest. He seemed too pure, too naive and too untainted. Whereas my fingers had been tainted by---

I could not prevent a sigh from escaping my lips. I withdrew my hand. I could not wantonly pollute him with the bloodied fingers. 

But I would stay till he woke. 

 

“Lord Finrod?” 

Melian came in. Behind her was Thalion, who looked deeply angry. He had every right to be, of course. 

“I am extremely-” I began to apologize, my diplomatic demeanour falling into place.

“No, I know that it was not entirely your doing,” Melian cut me off impatiently. “The question is what we should do about it.”

I wanted to know what Elu had said. Did he hold me responsible? Perhaps he had expected me to leave before dawn? 

“I am cloistering the kingdom. We shall receive none of the Exiles here except for those related in blood to the King.”

She had made her decision. Celeborn looked unhappy with the exception granted to those related to the King. But he did not argue. Instead, he satisfied himself with one long glare at me and walked out, his head haughtily in the air. For once, I did not find it amusing. Oropher nodded to me and bowed to Melian before taking Thalion’s arm companionably and leaving. 

“Melian,” I began earnestly, “I had no intentions at all. You must believe me when I say that.”

She fixed me with a long, cool glare before saying, “And what are your intentions now? You will fill in the vacancy?”

I bristled in sudden anger at her callous words. But she knew me too well and smiled coldly. I would lose much by making an enemy out of her. I could not risk that. 

Bravely, I spoke, “I am not suited to ‘fill the vacancy’ as you call it. It was never my intention and that has not changed. There is a curse on my family as you well realize. I will not pull another into it. I am sorry to have caused Eöl’s desertion. But you must know that if he had really loved your King, he would never have done so. ”

“Spoken exactly as I had expected you to.” 

She did not offer more. Instead, with a brisk inclination of her head, she left the chamber. That left me to stew in my misery. Was it too much to hope that I would leave Doriath with all parts of my body intact?

×××

I walked despondently in the woods. Thalion had told me that the walk would admirably enliven my spirits. I thought it utter foolishness. But who was I to tell him that? With excellently acted gratitude, I took his advice.

I hated these woods. The magic of Melian suffocated the forest. In a way, I thought, both Melkor and Melian were guilty of the same crime; tampering with nature. We, of the Noldor, have always let nature be. Perhaps one virtue among a long, long list of vices?

 

“Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,  
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;  
Of changing and shifting shape,  
Of snares eluded, broken traps,  
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.  
Backwards and forwards swayed their song.  
Reeling foundering, as ever more strong  
The chanting swelled...”

 

I shivered as the song died on Elu’s lips. He was staring at the night skies, his brows frowning in thought. I had spent days and nights wondering how he would treat me. Now, he was before me in flesh and blood. And I stood like a stone, stricken to the core by the song.

He turned slowly to face me. Then I realized that I had been a fool all along. He was not naive. He had never been naive. He had simply been a better diplomat.

His eyes shone in wisdom, the unparalleled wisdom of long years and many conquests. Under the starry skies, he seemed an ethereal creature, spun of moonlight and legend. It was then that I understood the real potency of Elwë Singollo. The trees swayed in the wind, bowing their branches to their acknowledged ruler. The people of Doriath were not uncivilized and foolish. We were the fools for thinking them so. 

I could not speak. So potent was his power as he gazed at me. From that steady gaze, I had no secrets. I gulped. I should never have come to Doriath. We had terribly underestimated the Sindar race.

 

“Really, Russandol!” Findekáno sniffed, “They are on par with the dwarves, uncivilized and uncultured in speech and ways. We can find better allies than those pagans!”

“They are not pagans!” Russandol cut in angrily. “Even if they were, I think that paganism is easier on the conscience than wilful heresy.” 

“But you must concede that they are culturally deficit,” I broke in before Findekáno could reply to Russandol’s scathing words. 

“You will not understand unless you really meet them in their own surround. You see them on hunts, you see them at markets, that is all your interactions are confined to. Angband made a better learning ground. I know them better, their strength and their will to endure. Trust me on this, cousins, they shall be powerful allies if we could but persuade them to our cause.” 

 

We had given in to his eloquence. And that was why I stood before the King now, bared to the soul. My cousin had been right. These were a people of hidden strengths. Subtlety over Noldorin arrogance and brashness. Perhaps that was the key to survive in Middle-Earth?

He walked towards me slowly. I swallowed again and forced myself to still my trembling fingers. A sardonic smile curled the corners of his lips as he observed my very visible trepidation. For once, I had no words. 

He raised his right hand to my face. I flinched half-prepared for a slap. Instead the hand dropped to grab my right hand. His fingers slowly caressed mine. I dared a look at him. There was a distant expression in his eyes.

“Tainted with the blood of your kin.” He whispered harshly as he brought our intertwined fingers upwards for closer inspection. “You dared touch me with your bloodstained fingers!”

I clenched my eyes shut and pulled my hand away from his grip. A moment later, I ruefully reflected that it had not been the wisest move. It was his domain. There was nothing I could do but to subject myself to his judgment. Helplessness reared its ugly head in me. I had felt fear, I had felt anger, I had felt despair, but never before had I felt so helpless. I swallowed again. 

“Open your eyes.”

I did. Instinctive obedience that comes along with helplessness. If Macalaurë had been there, he would have waxed eloquent on that. I should never have come here.

“Did you imagine that we were extraordinarily easy to deceive?” His tone had none of its usual mellowness and warmth. 

I had imagined so. But would it do any good to admit it? Probably not. 

A gust of wind blew in the glade, sending a cold shiver down my spine. I met his eyes nervously. They were calm and distant. Naïveté? Had I been so foolish?

“Because of you, kinslayer, I lost my Eöl!” He hissed, an inferno rising in his eyes.

 

“Your father is responsible for corrupting my brother!” My father was shouting at Russandol.

“If Nolofinwë had not wanted it, would my father have been able to force him?”**

 

“If you had not wanted it, could I have forced you, My Lord?” I whispered bravely. “I think not. You are wiser than I ever can be. What happened was not of my orchestration. You sowed your plot, made me a coin in the game and now you reaped your desserts. Eöl must--”

“SILENCE!” 

The single word was enough to kill my speech midway. My teeth clicked as I stopped speaking abruptly. What did he intend to do with me? Force a confession from my lips before the council? Doriath would not have the death penalty, I decided. Perhaps I might be thrown into the haunted woods and left for good. 

“You will not speak unless I command you to.” 

His words were mechanical and precise. A frisson of fear enflamed my being. I resisted the urge to step backwards. I did not dare disobey him.

“Kneel.” 

“ I beg your pard--”

“You heard me.”

I suppressed an exclamation of anger as I stared at him. He stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. I shivered. 

“Will a prince of the Noldor kneel at the feet of a Sinda?” 

Sardonic and curious. The curiosity lingered in his voice even then. I closed my eyes wishing desperately that I could open them again to find myself awaking from this nightmare on my narrow cot on the shores of Mithrim. 

 

“What is going on?” I asked, aghast as I watched the soldiers forcing the poor thralls we had rescued to perform menial services.

“The Sindar and the Avari, that is where they belong, at our feet.” My brother, Angaráto, remarked with deep relish. One of the serving thralls blushed deeply and cast her eyes down.

I turned away in disgust and made my way to Macalaurë’s chambers. He was setting his harp to tune. He looked up as I entered and smiled as he noticed my expression. 

“Am I to take it that you have seen your brother’s doings?” he asked ironically, pouring me a goblet of coarse wine.

I drank it down and mumbled, “What can be more humiliating than such treatment? Brutish. Why would anyone prefer to be treated so?”

“You are right. But what is anathema to you and I constitute pleasure for others.” Macalaurë began plucking randomly at the strings of his instrument, a frown marring his handsome, austere features. “Russandol once spoke of how trust can make things easier.”

 

There was no deep malice in his eyes. It was just anger and righteous indignation at my deception. 

I looked him in the eye bravely and said in as clear a tone as I could muster then, “If I could trust you enough to spend a night with you, Lord Elwë, I can certainly trust you enough to kneel before you without a qualm. Amends must be made. If those amends involve my obedience to your whims, thus be it.”

I bowed to him gravely and then slid to the ground till I was on my knees before him. I did not look up at him. I was too busy trying to bring my rapid breathing under control. I had acted well. Or was it not acting? A hand brought my chin up to his unwavering gaze. It had not been entirely acting, I decided. I did trust him.

I do not know what was evident on my face then. But whatever it had been, it affected him too deeply for he sighed and murmured something under his breath. I did not dare speak. My body trembled battered by a multitude of emotions. His hand left my chin and I felt bereaved, immeasurably so. But I would never tell him. I was damned if I were to. A ragged gasp left my lips nonetheless as my mind rapidly relinquished control to my emotions. 

It proved to be my salvation. 

A pair of strong arms raised me to my feet. An inferno of emotions engulfed my mind whole and I collapsed into his arms with another wretched groan. He held me close as I shuddered against his frame, unable to cry and yet unable to stop wanting to cry. It was the closest to insanity I ever had been.

Elu has always been a very kind soul. His quiet voice murmured in my ear, “Let go, Finrod. You have passed the test. You are forgiven, at least by me. Let go.”

And I let go of the iron control that I had clamped down on my emotions ever since my grandfather’s death. In his arms, I fell into pieces and was made anew again. Such a horribly embarrassing and yet, rejuvenating experience I had never been through in my life.

“I was a fool,” I cursed aloud as my uneven, wretched sorrow came to its end. 

My cheeks felt sticky. My head ached. And I felt extremely sleepy. All that I could think of was that his arms felt very warm as they held me to him. 

“You are young. You are allowed to be foolish.” 

Elu’s logic would not have made through a Noldorin court. Then again, we weren’t in one. I could believe his words without trying to think more upon them. 

I did not reply. Instead, I tentatively wound my hands about his waist. There they would stay, unless he wanted to move them. Warm fingers gently disengaged my hands. My breath hitched in my throat and I wondered what I would do. Embarrassment threatened to undo me all over again.

“We need to retire,” he said kindly. 

His fingers came to guide me onwards. I began unsteadily walking, quite content to be led wherever he wished to lead me to. We did not speak again until he had slid the door of his bedchamber shut. 

“Perhaps I make a bold assumption.” There was nervousness in his voice. I shook off my sleepiness and peered at him. He continued, “I presumed that you would not mind staying--”

I was in no condition to tell him what I wanted. I was weary, sad and utterly in despair. The doom seemed to linger over my head like an overlarge, creepy bat. I did the only thing I could have done under the circumstances. 

I fell backwards onto his bed and raised my hand invitingly. It would have to be enough. 

Luckily it was.

 

References:  
The relationship of Eöl and Elwë – ‘An Apprentice in Autumn’  
The poem – From The Lay of Leithian  
The relationship of Nolofinwë and Fëanor- The Journal of Nolofinwë.

* * *

The Coronation of Finrod,  
The caves of Nargothond. 

 

“Whyever would you want to travel to that creepy land again?” Nolofinwë asked me impatiently as he examined a carving on the stone walls. “You are a king now. Your lands need you. Let your brothers take the role of emissaries. And caves,” he gestured his hand in a sweeping arc, “what would make you imitate the caves of Doriath? You will never know the hardship I had to convince many of your cousins to enter these caves! If they did not love you as much as they do, I don’t think they would have been persuaded!”

“But Nolofinwë-” I began coaxingly. 

I caught a glance of myself in a mirror as we walked towards the boisterous group of family who were convened at the farther end of the hall. Clad in silken white robes, my golden hair flying out, I think I resembled a pet kitten. Not for the first time, I envied my uncle, who looked the part of a real king. Even Russandol with his unmanageable red hair has always looked regal. Perhaps it had something to do with attitude.

“Lord Findaráto,” an aide stopped my progress. 

Nolofinwë nodded to me dismissively and walked towards Russandol. I scowled and turned to the aide.

“An arrival from Doriath.” 

I did not wait for more. My invitation to Elu to attend my coronation ceremony at these caves had received no reply. I had not expected one. He had always made it clear that he would not travel past his borders. But a part of me had foolishly hoped...

There were two Sindarin nobles at the entrance to the great hall. I recognized them instantly. 

“Thalion!” I smiled warmly and bowed to them in the Sindarin manner. 

Diplomatic relations are always easier if one learns to respect the other party’s traditions. Thalion smiled gratefully and then moved forward to embrace me. I caught a whiff of the woodlands. Elu. I could not allow my thoughts to stray that way. With effort, I brought my thoughts to the present and returned Thalion’s embrace before turning to greet the second acquaintance.

“Prince Celeborn.”

He nodded sharply, his eyes wary and yet, curious. Whispers rose in the hall as the gathering noticed the arrivals. Celeborn’s stiff posture told me that he was apprehensive of how he would be welcomed here. Why had Elu not sent Oropher instead? As I thought about that, Celeborn began recovering his usual hauteur. His calm blue tunic melded cleanly with the luxuriant silver hair and all eyes were on him. Well, Elu had decided to make the best first impression at Nargothrond. And judging from the whispers around us, I took it that it was a success. Celeborn’s distinctive features, his poise and his famed hunting exploits would make a favourable impression on the Noldor.

“Come.” I tried to put them at ease. “I will take you to meet my family.” 

Celeborn’s jaw clenched, clearly showing what he thought of my family. But diplomacy insisted that I introduced him to them. And I would enjoy it, of course.

Russandol and Nolofinwë were talking in earnest, their faces drawn in passion as they debated something. Artanis was speaking to Findekáno, her features relaxed and beautiful. Irissë and Tyelkormo were trying to drive each other mad as they flirted shamelessly with others. Next to me, Celeborn made a disapproving huff under his breath. I decided to ask Irissë to pull him for a dance. Macalaurë and his wife were speaking with Atarinkë, though as we passed them Macalaurë gave me a fond wink.

“Uncle, Russandol,” I stepped back to let my family see the guests. “Prince Celeborn of Doriath and Lord Thalion.”

The conversation stilled and my uncle rose to greet the Sindarin nobles with a cautious smile. 

Russandol waited until Celeborn had made the necessary polite observations before rising to his feet and saying warmly, “We have heard much of you, Prince. Indeed, we would be indebted to you if you deign to tell us what exactly has made our cousin Findaráto imitate your architecture.” 

“But you hated caves!” 

It escaped Celeborn before he registered that he had spoken. Thalion cleared his throat mildly. My family were staring at me amusedly.

“I used to,” I replied quickly. “But I have come to realize that they are the best choice for safety. In a way, I have become fond of them.”

I glared at Macalaurë, who was smirking at me from behind his wine goblet. Was I so transparent? 

“Your friend is a silver tree, Findaráto.” Artanis cut in to cover my discomfort. Had she also known? However, the fact remained that it was the most ridiculous comment someone had made at Celeborn’s expense. And apt. I would have got the moon for my dear sister if she had asked me for it then.

“I beg your pardon!” Celeborn exclaimed incredulously, his eyes sweeping over her pale, beautiful figure. If I was not mistaken, it was interest that shone in his eyes then. She laughed in amusement at the bafflement on his features.

Macalaurë seemed to notice Celeborn’s bold gaze too, for he said briskly, “Lady Artanis, Lord Findaráto’s sister.”

“Charmed to meet you,” Celeborn did not take his eyes off her as he knelt to press a kiss to her hand in the traditional manner. 

Thalion spared me an amused look before gently nudging Celeborn. My family was staring curiously as Artanis blushed and muttered a grateful sound as she wrenched her hand from his grip. 

“My Lord.” An aide broke the tableau. “It is time for the dances.”

“Ah, yes, Findaráto,” my uncle said good-humouredly, “take my daughter’s hand and step on to the dance floor.”

“Irissë, you must promise me that you shall not do anything abnormal,” I begged Irissë as she offered me her hand regally. She smirked and fluttered her eyelashes in a dangerous manner. I groaned mightily before leading her to the floor.

We were soon followed by Nolofinwë and Artanis. To my relief, Irissë remained a perfect lady and I was soon drowning in the pleasure of dancing with such a skilled partner. In the second dance, Nolofinwë relinquished Artanis’s hand to Celeborn. As my sister danced with the prince, I met his eyes warily. To my amazement, those blue eyes were free of disdain and boredom. They shone with warmth and tenderness as he gently guided my sister’s steps. 

“A match, cousin?” Irissë murmured as she followed my gaze.

“I hope not.” I did not hide my apprehension. “He is probably the worst match she can make. He is unbelievably selfish. He hates our people. I will not hear of such a match.”

×××

“Not that I mean to be rude,” Thalion began as I escorted him to his chambers, “but you were most insistent that I come.”

“Yes.” I stopped walking and ran a hand through my hair thoughtfully. “My cousin has never recovered truly after the ordeal of Angband. You are the best healer I have had the good fortune to meet. I would be indebted if you could...”

Thalion nodded simply and said, “Take me to him.”

×××

“Russandol, open the door, please!” 

I knocked on the chamber door. It seemed to be securely bolted. I wondered why he would feel the need to bolt his door when ensconced safely in the royal family wing. I could hear the scrape of a chair being moved back.

One thing that I had paid attention to when I had been planning the architecture of these caves was the thickness of the doors. I would not have those heavy ones that were the bane of Doriath. I had chosen wood and stone carefully to make sure that sounds were audible on either side. The door creaked open and Russandol stood before us, still clad in his deep grey silken ceremonial robes. Curiosity shone in his eyes as he looked at Thalion before he smiled and held the door open to let us enter.

“I would wish to speak with your cousin alone, Finrod.” Thalion barred me with a gentle nudge on my shoulder.

I nodded and stepped back. The door closed and I paced in the corridor worriedly.

“I believe that we can both dispense with the formalities, Lord Russandol,” Thalion was saying. “I wish to help you if I can.”

Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to do away with those thick doors. I did not want to eavesdrop, but a part of me wanted to know what had broken my cousin. I had to. Ever since Macalaurë had distanced himself from his brother and retreated beyond the Gelion, I had perceived a change in Russandol for the worse.

“You are wise, Lord Thalion.” Russandol’s voice had taken on that quiet, intense tone that happens when he is weighing his options. “I thank you for your aid, but there’s really nothing to be done.”

“Poison?” Thalion seemed worried.

“A lingering death is what Morgoth promised me. I suppose he shall make good on his word. Yes, I was poisoned over and over again until they were certain that my bloodstream was corrupted and my vital organs were slowly dying.” 

I gasped in shock and leant against the wall for support as his precise, calm tone described the situation.

“It is a grievous condition.” Thalion’s voice was clinical and detached as it always was when he needed to mask his emotions. “Irreversible.”

“Nobody knows. I wish that to remain so. But can you do something for me, Lord Thalion?” Russandol asked earnestly.

“If it is in my power, I shall.” 

“I need to live a good while longer. Not because I am afraid to die. But I wish to spare my brothers the Oath as long as I may. Is there any means by which you can prolong my life?” Russandol asked quietly.

Thalion remained silent for a long time before saying, “The only means by which that can be done would increase and prolong your pain immeasurably, Lord Russandol. I would not advise that under any circumstance.”

“I have no choice. And I care nothing for myself.” 

“A complete bloodletting might achieve your end. It is rarely tried. And it has never worked so far. It is a complicated, lengthy procedure with no guarantee of success and I advise you against it. It is an extremely painful way to die.” Thalion sighed.

“I can imagine. I will take someone into confidence so that it shall not cause problems should my death ensue as a result of this technique. I place myself entirely in your hands. Do whatever you can to prolong my life.” 

A moment later, the door opened and Russandol called me in. I strode in with uneasily, wondering why it had happened. Of us all, he deserved to suffer the least. And it had happened the other way around.

“Findaráto.” 

Russandol’s voice has never failed to calm me and it was true that moment. I gave a shaky sigh and collapsed onto the chair beside the unmade bed. Russandol moved to stand behind me and gently squeezed my shoulder. I leant back into his touch instinctively and closed my eyes, thinking of all that I had overheard.

×××

“...I think that the best chance would be to use the blood of those closest to him in character and physique. That way, we might guess that his blood will not repel the new blood...” Thalion was saying distractedly as he prepared to begin the process. “Of course, most of this has never been proved. It is mere theory that we can place our hopes upon and also on your cousin’s iron will.”

I did not reply. I felt quite sick as I watched the blood draining out into a chamber pot. The sedative Thalion had administered did not do its work well. Russandol was used to higher concentrations of the drug. But there was no time to prepare yet another concoction. We had to finish the process before daybreak. Russandol would have to leave with Nolofinwë in the morning. All that mattered only if he made it through the night. I gulped and looked down at his grey eyes, once more assuring myself that they were still lucid and filled with life.

I had to take a dubious Artanis and an equally dubious Irissë into our confidence. Irissë had agreed to trust Thalion’s word and gladly volunteered to drug my twin cousins to get the necessary blood. I would convince them in the morning that any unpleasant side-effects of blood loss were merely hallucinations induced by the ale they had drunk during the previous night’s celebrations. Artanis had balked when we had asked her to make sure that Macalaurë remained unaware of all this. I did not fancy being the one to explain to a wrathful Macalaurë why we were experimenting this on his brother.

“It is working, I think.” Russandol murmured white-faced as he watched the open gash that Thalion had made.

“Your blood has not repelled it yet. In many cases, I have seen the patients suffer convulsions during the early stage of blood replenishment.” Thalion was sweating as he placed his hand on Russandol’s brow. He was staring into my cousin’s grey eyes. “Don’t die on me, Prince Russandol. I would never forgive myself.”

“I am already dying, my good friend.” Russandol shot me an apologetic glance as I shuffled nervously. “Now, let us get on with it. I fear that I cannot remain lucid any longer. It pains terribly.”

“I did warn you.” Thalion sighed.

“I wouldn’t have allowed anyone I cared for to undergo this, certainly.” Russandol smiled through a grimace of pain. I bit down on the sob that threatened to escape my lips. 

It would not do. He would accept no pity. And I would never pity my proud cousin. But in the course of the long night, there were half-stifled moans of pain that escaped him as the pain overwhelmed him. I almost let my pity surface on my features before turning away wearily. 

On and on it went. I lost track of time as I helped Thalion with the strange technique. I did not know what would happen if it failed. It would not fail. Thalion had told me that it would be all right once the first stage was over. The body had accepted the blood. It would be fine. It would be.

Fever broke as the night moved on. Thalion said that it was normal. I did not believe him. We do not fall sick from bloodloss. Or did we? Around two hours before dawn, my cousin lost his tenuous grip on consciousness and we could only wait. 

“I have done all that I can. He will live considerably longer than he would have.” Thalion murmured wearily as he wiped his bloodied hands on a towel. Russandol still slid in and out of consciousness. But he was alive.

Blood on the hands. I turned away nauseously. Memories of Alqualondë rose in me as the stench of blood overpowered my senses. 

“Are you-?” Thalion began. 

“What is the game, Findaráto?” Macalaurë’s voice was molten gold, fiery in its wrath.

The only thing that frightened me more than the stench of blood was my cousin’s temper. I cursed under my breath and turned to face him hesitantly. He was standing in the doorway, clad in a simple black robe that made him seem taller and gaunter than he was. His eyes narrowed in anger as they regarded the prone figure on the bed. 

I began to reply, but Thalion placed a hand on my wrist and forced me into silence. It was a silence before the storm as the three of us looked at the sole occupant of the mattress. 

Russandol’s gaze blearily settled on the silhouette of his brother and he whispered hoarsely, “Macalaurë, sorry.”

“I believe you need to be.” Macalaurë’s voice did not hold the least ounce of kindness or care as he strode in and lifted his brother’s hand to inspect the gash. “What ritual of Doriath have you enacted on this fool, Findaráto?”

“I insisted upon it,” Russandol whispered weakly before trying to curl his fingers on his brother’s hand.

“Why do you do this? Why must you make me grieve all over again? Do you hate life so terribly?” Equal parts sarcasm and fear coloured Macalaurë’s voice.

“Helpless, hated and half of what I once was, I no longer wish to live for myself. But for you, brother, I will live. I care not what cost Mandos claims.” 

Russandol tried to hold his brother’s hand in his own as he spoke. It was painful to see him begging for his brother’s forgiveness. It was equally painful to see the dark secret in Macalaurë’s eyes as he nodded and knelt by the bed gracefully. His hand curled about his brother’s fingers while the other hand reached up to smooth the tangled hair. 

×××

“Once again,” a very patient Atarinkë asked me. “Whyever do you wish to travel to Doriath?”

They were leaving to Barad Eithel. Russandol had already ridden ahead with our uncle, keen to stay away from his brother. Macalaurë had remained as aloof as ever though those who knew him well could see the pain in his eyes. 

Now, Artanis was attempting to draw him out of his brooding. His wife, Carnilótë, was merrily speaking with Irissë, though her brown eyes held no ignorance as she occasionally spared her husband a fond, concerned glance. It was a complicated tangle that they were in the midst of. Across the courtyard stood Celeborn, his eyes on Artanis. I frowned.

“Russandol is an idiot,” Atarinkë said plainly. “All that he preaches about laws and hearts, and yet he cannot bring himself to follow his own principles.”

I nodded and spoke quietly, “Perhaps there is more than we see to the situation. Russandol has never been one to fear things.”

“He is an idiot, I tell you again. He wants Macalaurë happy with Carnilótë and at the same time, with deeper intensity, he wants Macalaurë to stay with him.” Atarinkë shook his head scornfully before going to his mount. “What are your plans, cousin?”

“I will be leaving for Doriath with Celeborn. My nephew, Orodeth, will take charge here. I have certain diplomatic tasks in Elu’s...Elwë’s court.” 

I hoped fervently that my voice did not break on Elu’s name. Atarinkë did not reply, though his eyebrows shot up elegantly letting me know exactly what he thought of my plans. 

×××

I could not wait as I followed the escort. The trees that I had once hated seemed to be welcoming me now. An extremely ridiculous grin was plastered on my face despite Celeborn’s sardonic comments and Thalion’s good-natured teasing. When we finally reached the large courtyard of Doriath, I dismounted from the horse and rushed to the entrance to the caves, caring no more for propriety or diplomacy. 

My smile faltered as I saw Melian in the centre of receiving party. She walked towards me and embraced me saying quietly, “It is wonderful to have you as our guest again. I had doubted that you could leave your lands so early.”

“I was not expected?” I asked incredulously. It was extremely obvious that I was merely living to return here. 

“Not so soon,” she laughed. “I see that we were mistaken.”

“Grievously mistaken, I assure you!” I exclaimed as I stepped back and looked over her shoulder hopefully.

Melian gave me an amused look before saying, “Come in, then. I will take you to the King.”

“I would be grateful,” I said laughing as she took my arm and led me into those caves which would shelter my fondest memories.

My nerves made an unwelcome appearance as we walked through the oh-so-familiar passageways that I could negotiate blindfolded. It was not helped by the frosty glares that the passers-by dealt me. 

Had he changed? Had Eöl returned? What if there was-

My thoughts were cut off as Melian pushed the door open and called aloud, “Elu, you have a visitor.”

And then I saw him. He was seated at his desk, clad in green, looking resplendent in the torchlight. He looked up as we entered and the emotions rushing through his eyes made me sigh in relief. The silly grin broke on my features again as I walked forward nervously. The door creaked shut as Melian crossed it on her way out. 

“Finrod.” 

He rose to his feet and pushed his chair back, his eyes moving over my frame in wonderment. I laughed shakily and walked to his side. If I had been his friend, I would have embraced him. If I had been merely an emissary, I would have bowed to him. If I had been his lover, I would have kissed him. But the fact remained that I did not know what I was to him. So I settled for just staring at his noble visage. 

“Were you busy?” I asked after what seemed to be an unbearably long time when we did nothing but stare at each other. My nerves were starting to resurface with greater intensity and I had to hide my fingers in my cloak to prevent him seeing their clenching and unclenching.

He shook his head and cleared his throat saying, “Just accounts of farm produce. Come, let me escort you to your chambers.”

My chambers? Did that mean that I would be staying in the guest wing? I tried to not think of what that implied. Did he wish to make it clear that he did not want resumption of our prior intimacy?

“Your arrival was unexpected.” 

He cleared his throat again as his arm brushed mine. I flinched and moved away, wondering what he meant. Had he expected me to never return? Perhaps he had wanted that. He might have taken another lover. It had not taken him too long a time to enter into a passionate relationship with me after Eöl’s departure. If even Eöl had held his heart only for so fleeting a period then what would be my fate?

 

“It is the greatest folly,” Findekáno told me conspiratorially as we watched Macalaurë trying to coax Russandol to eat the broth.

“Why would you say that?” 

I shared his opinion. Amarië had taught me how dangerous and foolish it was to love. But I was curious to know what Findekáno thought of it.

“It forces us to make exceptions, to surrender our logic, to give up our pride and to change what we are. An irreversible folly, cousin.”

 

I should have heeded those words. I should have heeded my own mind’s caution. But I had not. Which was why I stood now before Elwë, my composure shaken, my nerves in shreds and my heart at his feet. A grandson of Finwë would never admit to all that. So I steeled myself and proudly faced him as we reached a door.

“Thank you, My Lord, for arranging accommodation though I have come on such short notice.” 

There, my voice was calm and crisp. My tone had been entirely diplomatic. Anyone would have been taken in completely by the act. 

He met my gaze, his eyes searching mine. Then he nodded and smiled before opening the door. I gasped in surprise as I saw the lavishly decorated room at the centre of which ruled a large bed.

“You act well, Finrod. I should be grateful that your eyes hold the truth always.” He took my hand and led me in. 

I did not reply. For the first time in many years, I was just glad that someone had seen through my act. 

×××

“You look enthralling,” he murmured as we sat on the rich, luxurious carpet before the fireplace. 

I had stretched my legs and crossed my arms against the legs of a chair so that I could rest my head against them. He was seated across me, his legs drawn to his chin as he contemplated my languid form.

“I look terrible. You don’t need to pay me any false compliments to reach your ends, Elu!” I laughed wryly. “You should see the competition I have to put with in my family. All of them look infinitely more regal than I ever can.”

“You look enthralling, all the same.” 

He rose to his feet and threw a log onto the fire before extending his hand to me. I suppressed a sleepy yawn and took his hand, pulling myself to my feet. He glowed in the firelight and the sight of him warmed me more than anything else. Sighing contentedly, I moved to embrace him. The hard muscles of his torso yielded to my exploring arms as we sank into the embrace. He shifted slightly so as to rub the full length of our bodies together. I did not seek more explicit consent. 

“Shall we move to the bed?” I whispered in his ear, shivering even as his fingers trailed down my spine.

“Surely your imagination is not so restricted?” he teased me as I dragged him in the direction of the lush bed.

I glared at him. His eyes sparkled in mischief as he squarely held my gaze. I cursed and cast my eyes about, my blood heating up to the unvoiced challenge. 

“Yes.” My lips curled in a meaningful smile.

“Yes?” he taunted me gently as he brought his fingers to caress my cheekbones.

“Yes.” 

I pushed him back down on the bed. He did not even put up a token resistance as I straddled him. His hands pulled me closer to him, eliciting a groan from me as I felt his heated body beneath me. 

I set myself to the pleasurable task of undressing him. He aided me occasionally with the laces, but seemed extremely content to lie pliant beneath me. I leant back to greedily take in the sight of him supine on the lush mattress. His skin glowed in the torchlight and his eyes sparkled invoking the image of a pagan deity in my mind. 

“Look who is really enthralling,” I whispered softly, tracing the contours of his body with my fingers. 

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. I leant down to kiss him languidly before getting to my feet and walking away from the bed.

“Where are you going?” 

His tone was sharp and incredulous. Well, I would have been equally displeased had I been in his position. I did not reply as I stooped to pick a long feather quill from the elegant desk. As I brandished my tiny weapon, he raised his eyebrows again in disbelief. 

“What would you need with that?” he asked hoarsely, raising his head slightly to impress me with the effect of his full gaze.

“I believe that I shall need it in an attempt to prove the calibre of my imagination which you so flippantly dismissed.”

“What do-?”

Those were the last coherent words he spoke before he dissolved into laughter as the feather made a sharp trail down the long line of his neck. He tried to squirm away, but I held his hands down and he had no choice but to lie back under my assault. Tears began to run down his cheeks as I brought the feather down his collarbones and further. 

“FINROD!” he gasped as I trailed the feather down his flushed chest, flicking it over the lines of his ribs. 

I kissed him into incoherence before the feather continued its path down to his taut, clenched abdominal muscles. Playfully, I twirled it about in his navel and he arched up, fighting against my hold on his arms. I did not relent. 

He was a heated creature of long drawn out exquisite moans and pleas as his defences melted away under the sensual torment of the feather. I had never particularly liked such extended foreplay in bed. But Elu made me do things I normally would balk at. I sighed and let him twist and coil his limbs about my frame as the feather drove him mad. 

“FINROD!” 

His voice was hoarse and broken.

“Yield,” I whispered heatedly in his ear. He turned to meet my gaze as I cupped his chin. Trust. 

×××

“Why didn’t you expect me to return so soon?” I asked him sleepily as I pillowed my head on his chest.

His hands played with my hair as he said thoughtfully, “I thought you would regret it once you had returned. Perhaps you might return to a lover you had already.”

“I have had partners.” I yawned. “But lovers, only twice in my life. Amarië and you. Please, I beg you; don’t tell me about your lovers. I am not sure that I can withstand the regaling of your past exploits.”

He laughed, the rumbling in his chest making me pleasantly jolted. 

“I am afraid that you are right,” he said merrily. 

I groaned and closed my eyes. What else had I the right to expect from a king as old as my grandfather? Logic told me so. But my foolish heart had hoped for a refutation of my accusation. 

He continued blithely, “My count exceeds yours by one.”

My heart gave one of those alarming jumps into my throat which were occurring with increasing frequency ever since I had met Elu. I looked up at him warily.

“You, him and my wife.”

He drew me up for a long, lazy kiss. 

I believe I made a noise akin to a purr for he mussed up my hair and said affectionately, “You resemble a tawny, spoilt pet kitten.”

I did not deign to reply to the absurd observation.

×××

“Lord Finrod!” A messenger from Nargothrond came bearing epistles. 

An uneasy feeling rose in my heart as I took them from him. 

“What is wrong?” Elu appeared beside me, his brows frowning in concern.

“Turkáno’s seal,” I whispered as I broke the first open. 

 

“...she complained that the city was too placid and held no attractions for someone as full of life as she is. She wanted to go to our cousin. But when she came to the borders of Doriath, they stopped her. She sent her escort back and rode along the borders of Elwë’s realm. You know how fearless and reckless she can be. Find her and send her to Hithlum, to my father...”

 

“The woman was seen at the northern fences,” Celeborn told us when he was summoned to the court. “I received no reports describing her as a Noldorin princess and so I didn’t tell you.”

“Is it such a common occurrence; women seeking to cross your fences?” I asked Celeborn angrily. “And I find it difficult to believe that the reports did not describe her as a noble woman! My cousin is one of the most beautiful women who ever walked on these lands!”

“Finrod,” Elu began.

“DON’T!” I cut him off angrily. “HE,” I pointed at Celeborn angrily. “He knew that it was my cousin from the description. He had danced with her at my coronation ceremony, for pity’s sake! I cannot believe that he remained blissfully ignorant about the identity of the woman who wished to pass the borders!”

Celeborn turned his icy gaze to a portrait of Melian that hung on the wall across him before saying coldly, “It is not my practice to notice or bed those I meet or dance with at diplomatic events.” 

“You--” I began furiously.

“Please.” Elu mediated between Celeborn and me. 

“Uncle, I have things I need to see to instead of standing here and talking about lost Noldorin women who were foolish enough to ride through the woods of these lands.” 

With that parting shot, he walked away. I cursed in Quenya and paced angrily, trying to let my thoughts not warp into poisonous scenarios. For Turkáno to be worried--

“She would have reached Lord Celegorm,” Elu spoke reassuringly as he tried to stop me pacing. He was rapidly opening and skimming through the rest of the letters, his expression set in a deep frown.

I made a noncommittal grunt before passing my hand over my eyes wearily. I knew Irissë well. She would not think twice before straying off the paths and exploring the woods. What if-?

“I think you should search for her, Finrod.” 

Elu’s voice had none of its usual mellowness. I turned to face him. He was reading a letter, his face pale and worried.

“What does it say? Whom is it from?” I barked uneasily.

“Lord Maedhros.” Elu spoke quietly. “...She left Himlad and strayed into the woods of Nan Elmoth according to those who tried to track her. I fear for her, cousin. Ride along the northern fences of Doriath towards Himlad. I will ride into Nan Elmoth and pick up the trail...”

“I will never forgive Celeborn!” I hissed angrily as I snatched my cousin’s letter from him and read it rapidly.

“Now is not the time. Please, Finrod, find your cousin and send her to her father.” His voice held deep concern. “My daughter was raised in these lands and yet I protect her from the world. The lands are harsh and filled with evil, Finrod. Your cousin’s life is in grave danger.”

×××

I had mounted my horse when Oropher came running to our side. Elwë placed his hand on my thigh to halt me as his nephew strode towards us.

“What is it?” Elu asked worriedly.

“Nan Elmoth,” Oropher said, frightened. “The dwarves bring news that Eöl has made his dwelling there. They speak of a woman ensnared.”

“Elu,” I whispered hoarsely as I met his alarmed gaze.

“She will be unharmed, I promise you. Eöl is not malicious. He never has been.” 

For the first time since I had known him, Elu lied to me. And I knew it instinctively. Eöl would not spare her. 

 

“You did not deserve this.” I said angrily as I helped him walk. “Your father would never have sworn the oath if he had known the cost it would claim from you.”

“It often happens that we do not reap the consequences of what we do. Instead, it is those whom we love that reap the results of our mistakes. Knowing that they suffer is infinitely more unbearable than enduring it alone. I am glad that he did not see me thus. He would never have forgiven himself.” 

Russandol’s voice held the deep serenity that had never failed to sooth me. But when I met his turbulent gaze, I knew that it was an act. His eyes spoke of a bitter, weary soul hidden behind the many layers of diplomatic shield.

 

I would never forgive myself.

“Please,” I murmured to the Gods I no longer believed in, “Spare her.”

I knew they would not.

 

 

×××

* * *

“The tracks lead deep into the woods of Nan Elmoth,” Findekáno told me.

Our search parties had met on the outskirts of Himlad. He had been searching for his sister for weeks. His haggard expression told me volumes about what he was going through each day as he debated between calling off the search and leading his warriors into the more dangerous parts of the forest. There was the familiar stupor in his eyes; he had been drinking again. I wondered, for the umpteenth time, what his demons were.

“Russandol is a few miles to the north,” he answered my unasked question as he pored over a large map of the land. Dark shading denoted the parts of which we had no knowledge. And I felt panic as I realized that more than half of the map was shaded so. 

“We should lead our parties into Nan Elmoth and comb the area,” I said uneasily as I scanned the dark treeline. Not even birds chirped in these woods. 

“Our warriors fear to enter the woods. The superstitions abound. I fear for her, Findaráto,” He admitted with a troubled sigh.

“I must see Russandol.” 

I had to tell someone about Eöl. I could not tell Findekáno. He would never understand. He might. But a part of me knew that only Russandol would accept my choice. 

“Ride on. I will lead a last sweep in this part before I join you, cousin.” He was already nudging his horse away from me and hailing his warriors. 

It was nightfall when I reached the camp of Russandol. His warriors were boisterous and loud as they warmed themselves by the roaring fire. Not for the first time, I admired my cousin’s leadership. His warriors were always loyal to him even though the lands they defended were the on the front fence of Angband itself. Himring was not a place of beauty. But Russandol ruled it with his own brand of compassion and determination. 

“Where’s the Lord?” I asked them as I dismounted and led my horse to the firelight.

They smiled at me and passed over a mug of fowl-broth to me saying good-naturedly, “In his tent, Lord Findaráto. Will Lord Macalaurë come? He,” they nodded towards the tent, “he is less morose when his brother is around.”

“I know.” I let them take my horse away to be tethered. “I don’t think that Macalaurë will come. His lands need him. But I will accompany your lord for a while. Though I am not as beneficial company as Macalaurë can be, let us hope that it might help.”

“It will, My Lord, it will.”

I strode to the tent and called out, “Russandol! It is Findaráto, may I come in?”

“Get me a mug of the excellent broth that they have been stewing on our fire, will you?” he replied companionably.

He seemed to be in one of those rare, peaceful moods and I smiled as I entered. His presence has always made me feel that I could achieve anything, if only his support was there. 

“Yes?” He greeted me with one of his trademark scrutinizing glances as he walked to embrace me. 

I would never get used to the sensation of being enveloped by one arm when once there had been two. But I was glad to be in his presence again and I returned his embrace whole-heartedly.

“Have you been well?” 

I stepped back and frowned as I saw the dark circles around his eyes and the gauntness of his features. I had never seen him as gaunt as this but for the time when he had been rescued from Angband. 

“Merely been worried about our cousin. Her trail leads deep into the woods. Our warriors will not follow.” He shrugged and pushed me down to sit on the mattress, helping me deftly out of my travelling cloak. “And you, cousin? How is your liaison with the king?”

I fought down a blush as he smiled knowingly and knelt before me to help me out of my riding boots. 

“Does everyone know?” I asked rhetorically.

“You are very eager to be an emissary to Doriath,” he teased me lightly as I cuffed his ear with a low growl. 

“I hope that our uncle does not know!” I spoke scandalized. “He hates the Sindar!”

“He doesn’t. I will make sure that it stays that way. And except for Macalaurë, Artanis and Atarinkë, the rest of them think you are wooing Elwë’s fair daughter.” 

He was finding it hard to repress his mirth, I saw. I scowled and shoved him up beside me. He laughed at my expression and began playing with the spoon in the broth-bowl. At least nobody else knew. I would have been in deep trouble had my brothers known. Or worse, if my uncle knew.

“You don’t disapprove?” I asked uneasily.

“Did you think I would?” His voice held that particular depth of sweet sadness that made me want to shake him and find out whatever had hurt him so.

“No,” I replied quietly. “You are a miracle. You don’t deserve to belong to our family.”

“Let us not speak of that.” He offered me a wry smile.

“How is Tyelkormo?” I asked worriedly. 

Despite all that had passed between them, I knew that Tyelkormo loved Irissë just as deeply as she loved him. Their love was one of the deepest attachments I had seen. How would he react to the news that she was lost in a perilous forest and none of us had been able to find her yet?

“Atarinkë is with him.” Russandol sighed and drew a long leg up to his chin pensively. “He will never be the same again if she is harmed, cousin.”

“I know.” I gulped and turned to face his remarkable grey eyes. A peculiar shade of soft dove-grey. The legacy of Míriel Serindë, it was said. Only he had inherited it. 

“Tell me,” he prompted quietly.

“Eöl...When I was in Doriath for the first time,” 

With many breaks and faltering halts, I poured out my story. His eyes widened in alarm as I told him the news Oropher had from the dwarves. But he did not have a single word of reproof for me. Instead, he flopped back onto the mattress and stretched his legs wearily. I sighed. He had probably ridden out from Himring as soon as Turkáno’s message had arrived. And he must have immediately started leading out the search parties if I knew anything about him. He would drive himself on inconsiderate of his physical and mental exhaustion until he found her.

“Do you think he will harm her?” I asked hesitantly as I lay down beside him and turned to face him.

“I believe that we have no reason to think otherwise,” he said gravely as his eyes met mine. There was weariness, anger and helplessness eloquent in his gaze. 

“It is my fault.”

“It was no more your fault than it was Turkano’s for letting her travel out of his land...or for that matter Elwë who allowed Eöl to leave so easily. We are all equally to be blamed and equally not responsible. Now, find some rest. I intend to ride into the forest tomorrow.” 

On that note, he turned away from me and settled to sleep. I lay on my back, wondering about the strange, cruel ways of fate even after his breathing had settled into the slow, steady pace of slumber. I raised myself on one hand and watched his sleeping features quietly. Had he ever known the comfort of sleeping in the arms of a lover? I did not think so. To suffer alone seemed to be his fate.

Muddled, disturbed thoughts haunted me when I fell into an uneasy reverie. I had always been a light sleeper and it did not take the second scream to wake me up. As I sat up panicked, I saw that my cousin had risen beside me, looking ashen-faced in the pale moonlight that sifted into the tent.

“Go back to sleep,” he said shakily as he rose and walked over to the bowl of water placed in the corner of the tent.

“It is the same dream?” I knew I should not ask. He had never answered even when Macalaurë and our uncle had asked for days on end. 

“Go back to sleep.” His voice was kind and pitying as he washed his face with the water from the bowl.

I rose to my feet, pushing away the covers of the mattress as I spoke, “If I had woken up thus, would you have let me suffer alone?”

“Findaráto.” He turned to face me, his expression mildly surprised as he said, “I would wring out your darkest secrets from you for I cannot bear the thought of you suffering alone.”

“Is it wrong of me to feel the same?” I asked quietly.

“Some deserve to suffer alone.” 

He turned away, his face set in determination as he steeled his barriers against me. I sighed. He would not confide in me. He would not confide in anyone. It had always been so. The confounded pride.

 

“My warriors will not follow me into Nan Elmoth, Russandol,” I said wearily after long hours of trying to persuade them.

“I will speak to them,” he said quietly as he buckled his armour on. 

I wondered how he could so deftly perform such tasks with his left hand alone. He brought fingers to run through his hair distractedly. My sister had called his hair untameable. She was speaking the truth. It was a frisson of red, tangled and thick. But on him, it looked glorious like the rim of a setting sun. 

I watched in awe as he stepped onto the stump of a dead tree that we had used to light yesterday’s fire. In his shining armour, he looked a magnificent picture. His crimson hair flew in the wind haloing his pale, aristocratic, sharply profiled features. His deep grey eyes shone with the force of his incredible will.

The warriors assembled before him without being asked. There was his unparalleled charisma that drew his people to him. 

He began speaking, his voice pure and magnetic. His words stirred our deepest emotions as he gestured with his left arm, his tones deeply moved. 

“Not one remains amongst us who have not slain in wrath or in war. Not one remains amongst us who are untainted by the blood of our kin. Not one remains amongst us who do not hate the Valar and all that they symbolize. We followed my father into these lands, to build and hold our kingdoms, to live in freedom and to walk under the stars uninhibited by the will of others. Do any here deny the truth of what I say?”

As one, the warriors replied, “NO!”

“And,” Russandol brought his left hand to his heart, the expression in his eyes haunted and deep. “And we have suffered. We have suffered for daring to break away from the yoke of thralldom under the Valar.”

“INDEED, PRINCE!” 

“Long have we toiled and much have we lost!” He raised his hand to the heavens. The expression on his face was fey as he spoke, “Amongst us all, have any suffered more than I have done for our cause?”

“NO!” the answer was true and unanimous.

“And I continue to lead our cause!” He swore, “I shall do so until we win!”

“HAIL!”

“Fear not to follow me into the very depths of Hell! For I have endured all that can be wrought on a living soul and survived! I would not let any who I love suffer the least part of what I have been through even if I have to sacrifice all that remains to me. This I swear by all that I love!”

The men were silent, watching the spectacle before them in reverent awe. He resembled a deity of fire and stone, his eyes burning with emotion as he spoke, his gestures fervent and sincere. It was then I understood why it had been rumoured that he burned with an all consuming, all purifying white fire ever since his return from Angband.

“Then follow me!” He shouted as his mare was brought to him. He mounted gracefully and turned back saying, “We shall find our King’s daughter! Call our heralds. The hunt begins! Those who trust in me shall follow me!”

“WE SHALL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND BEYOND!” We shouted in unison before following him into the dark forest.

 

“The carcass is of one of our horses. Poisoned arrow. They have been clever enough to take the arrow away from the flesh,” Russandol murmured as he squatted on the ground beside the rotting remains and fingered the wispy mane that was strewn across the mud when the carcass was disturbed by the scavengers.

“Irissë?” I whispered as I turned away, forcing down my nausea. I took a deep breath to calm myself as I tried not to imagine what had happened to her.

Russandol was sweeping away the fallen leaves and the twigs from the region, examining the ground carefully.

“She was here, cousin.” He knelt down on the ground and bowed down, his hair falling before his face as he traced the footprints. “And..” he frowned as his fingers ran over the fading bootprints on the red earth. “One of the Sindar?” He looked up in fear.

“Eöl!”

(**Wildfire can be read to maintain the flow of narrative. Reminder: Wildfire is sometimes called a disturbing piece, though it has no explicit violence or sex.)

 

“I failed.”

 

Russandol threw his sword down disgustedly as he entered the tent. I did not reply. We had all failed. I would take Artanis along with me when I returned to Nargothrond. What if it had been her? I shuddered. I had loved Irissë for all that she embodied; wild freedom and unsurpassed beauty. I knew how deeply my uncle would mourn. She had been his favourite child. The fire of the house of Finwë had burnt in every tissue of her body. Often, her rashness, pride and anger had reminded me of my brilliant, insane, dead uncle. 

And now the proudest woman of our race had been captured by Eöl. How I hated myself!

“Cousin, I will see Findekáno before I turn in for the night.” Russandol was striding out of the tent, undoing the collar buttons of his tunic as he walked. 

I stood in the dark tent, my mind heavily burdened with my cousin’s fate. Did she yet live? Did Eöl kill her? Or, I shuddered, had he captured her in order to break her?

I hastily threw on my tunic and followed my cousin to Findekáno’s tent. I did not want to remain alone when my thoughts were pounding my mind cruelly. 

The candles in Findekáno’s tent were lit, I saw. Wondering what they had to discuss at this late hour, I strode up to the entrance. Perhaps, I shifted from one foot to the other, I should just go to where the warriors were gathered around the fire and wait for Russandol to return. Then I decided to go inside. I was not an intruder after all.

The number of times when I have been shocked to the very marrow of my bones is few. This was one of those instances. 

Findekáno’s muscles glowed in the candlelight. I have seen him naked on many an occasion, of course. When one grows up in as closeknit a family as ours, it is inevitable. But I had never seen his muscles clench and unclench in passion as they did now. His face was crumpled in a fury of lust and pleasure as he gasped, his palms digging into the ground. Sweat trickled down his skin as he rose and fell like a rutting animal, blissfully unaware of the surroundings. 

A low half-stifled moan brought me to my senses. Below Findekáno lay a proud soul, helpless and humiliated. The expression in those grey eyes, it shall continue to haunt me till the end. I cried out in horror as the significance of the scene crashed down on my mind.

“ERU!” Findekáno cursed as he looked up and saw me. 

I rushed in and fell onto my knees beside them, tears falling down my eyes as I hoarsely asked him, “Have you truly fallen so low, Findekáno?”

“It is not what you think.” Russandol’s voice was broken and yet retained a semblance of calm dignity. 

“SILENCE!” 

I shouted at him as I pushed a dazed Findekáno off his body. I could smell the stench of poor ale. Findekáno was drunk. That explained the lack of coordination in his movements. As I tried to examine the harm wrought by his drunkenness, Russandol slapped my hand away.

“I will not allow this before him! Spare me that if you spare me nothing else!” he hissed angrily as he stumbled onto his feet.

It was the closest I had come to murdering someone out of pure wrath. I turned to face Findekáno, cursing wildly. As my hand inched over my sword, Russandol made a sobbing sound in his throat and said hoarsely, “No, please. Don’t harm him. It is not worth it.”

His loss of composure was what saved Findekáno. Russandol had never fallen apart even in those early days after the rescue from Angband that to see him so frail and broken wrenched my heart. I undid my cloak and wrapped it around his unresisting form before saying, “Come.”

 

I kept a steadying hand on his waist as we walked to his tent. His warriors looked up as we crossed them, their expression worried and alarmed as they observed his unsteady gait. But there was no shock. It was not the first time then.

We did not speak as I divested the cloak off his shoulders and helped him sit on the edge of the bed. When I made to light a candle, he whispered, “No. Please.”

“I need to--” I began.

“No.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “It will be alright. It always heals fast.”

I tried not to let my features show the horror that I felt at the last statement. There was something eerie about the way in which he held his hand to his chest, as if to ward off the cold. He looked lost and vulnerable. Perhaps it was that which made me kneel before him and cup his chin in my hands. Our gazes met and he took a shaky breath.

“Tell me.”

“It has happened before,” he said dully. “It shall happen again. It is not of much consequence. It saves some poor young warrior from being the brunt of Findekáno’s lust. I don’t care much for myself as you well know.”

“Do you think that I can let this be?” I hissed angrily. “Seeing you thus was the worst experience I have had in life!”

“I did not expect you to walk in.” He shook his head wearily. “Just let it pass, cousin. You have enough of your own troubles.”

“Russandol,” I insinuated myself between his legs so that my head touched his chest. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart underneath his ribs, “I would never think any less of you whatever it is.”

He did not reply. But his head came to rest on my shoulder and his hand brought me closer to him. 

“Stay proud, cousin,” he whispered as a sob overwhelmed him. “Stay proud till the end. Remember what we were once. That is the only solace that I can give you. Stay proud, stay fearless, burn with the fire of our house till the very end.”

I had felt that lurking fear deep in my heart; I would not see him again. But to know that he realized the same made me swallow and drag him down completely into my embrace. 

“I will burn till the end, Russandol, whatever the end be,” I swore to him.

We were called the mildest and most reasonable of our house. But that night, we clung to each other, broken down by harsh stifled sobs. We had lost Irissë . And we would lose all those we loved until we stood alone at the end. Elu was right, we were a cursed house.

“You must tell Macalaurë.” I tried to meet his weary gaze.

“I cannot.” He sighed and ran a hand through his matted hair.

“He would understand.” I argued.

“He would.” He nodded. “But where would that leave me? To be pitied by him would kill me, cousin. I cannot bear his pity.”

“Confound your pride!” I hissed. “He deserves to know!”

“I don’t think he needs to know. Whatever I may spare him, I shall. Among those shall be my sordid secrets,” he rose to feet as he spoke and began rolling up the mattress. “I need to ride to Barad Eithel with Findekáno and see our uncle. You will ride to Nargothrond?”

“I shall,” I said quietly. He would not speak of this again. 

“Very well.” He nodded and began pulling on his boots. “Perhaps I could persuade Artanis to travel to Nargothrond.”

“Tell Macalaurë. Must you be so confoundedly proud?” I asked imploringly.

He turned to look at me, his gaze intense and pitying as he said, “I must be proud, Findaráto. It is all that I have left.”

Thus we were parted for the last time. As I watched him ride away with his usual flair, something died in me. I would not see my closest friend again. 

 

I did not see Elu for many long years. I was occupied by the concerns of my realm. Also, I had made new friends, the men or the ‘aftercomers’ as my brothers termed their race. Thus it was that at the Battle of the Sudden Flame, I was cut off from my allies in entirety. I had no warning since I had been engrossed in the activities of men who were roaming in my lands. 

“LORD!” My aides came running as I discussed the fortifications of Nargothrond with my captains.

“Your brothers have been slain! Lords Nolofinwë and Findekáno retreat towards their fortress. It is said that sons of Fëanáro have all been taken or slain!”

Thus it was that I rode to war, in a fury of rage and madness. My formations were ill-advised and my warriors barely prepared. But there was no time. I pressed north, but arrived too late. I was hemmed in by the enemy entirely. I remembered the vow I had made to Russandol and gave instructions for a fight to the end. 

Fate had other plans for me. A group of men arrived to my aid and broke the leaguer of the enemy. Barahir was the name of the leader of the men. I vowed myself indebted to his bravery and gave my signet ring as a token should he ever need my aid. 

I hastened to Nargothrond. Atarinkë and Tyelkormo had fled from their lands besieged by the enemy. I received them in my lands and we fortified our defences. There was no question of riding to our kin’s aid, for so cut off were we. Scouts and messengers rarely made through the swell of the enemy forces.

Carnistro had fled his lands and escaped to the wild woods of Ossiriand. Nolofinwë and Findekáno had retreated steadily towards their high-fortress in Hithlum. Of Russandol, there were no tidings. His lands jutted out on the gate of Angband and no messenger could pass through alive. Turkáno was safe since his location still remained a closely guarded secret. 

“My Lords!” The messenger rushed in as I discussed a plan with Atarinkë. “Maglor’s Gap has been taken by the enemy! They say that Lord Nolofinwë is slain. He rode out alone to call Morgoth for single combat.”

“Uncle.” Atarinkë sighed as he met my gaze. Nolofinwë had been but a wraith of himself after his brother’s death. Now he would be with his beloved brother, in the Void. I grieved deeply, for he had been a paternal factor in my life.

The aide continued, “But Lord Nelyafinwë has recaptured the pass of Aglon leading his warriors with unparalleled bravery.”

“Succouring Macalaurë?” Tyelkormo asked me uneasily, his handsome features drawn in worry.

“Russandol has won back the pass. Why do you think he attempted such recklessness?” Atarinkë asked hollowly.

He was right. Russandol would save Macalaurë at whatever cost.

 

“My brother.” 

Artanis smiled wearily as she dismounted. She looked older than the woman she had been during my coronation ceremony.

“Artanis.” I moved forward to embrace her.

Our uncle was dead**. Our brothers were dead. I would not let her out of my sight again. She belonged with me.

 

×××

 

References 

**Death of Fingolfin-The Journal of Fingolfin, chapter 11  
**Aredhel’s capture-Wildfire  
**The relationship of Eol and Thingol-An Apprentice in Autumn  
**Turgon’s location-Of Pride and Penalty  
**The relationship of Maedhros and Maglor-The Journal of Maglor. 

Reading the Journals will help with the timelines. The first 5 chapters of the Emissary are set as interludes to the Journal of Fingolfin. 

The Emissary completes the circlet of narratives, one each from the families of Feanor(The Journal of Maglor), Fingolfin(The Journal of Fingolfin) and Finarfin.(The Emissary, a Finrod narrative). 

While the readers of The Song of Sunset can understand the plot without reading The Journal arc, the finale would make more sense if they read these stories. The story arc has 5 generations of the house of Finwe and the Journals cover the first 3 generations.

* * *

“Come with me,” I begged Artanis once again. 

In one hand I held a letter from Elu an invitation to attend the Spring festival at Doriath. The other hand held the folds of my sister’s gown as I pursued her through the gardens. 

She turned to face me, her expression frankly incredulous. She said irritably, “Really, brother, why must you insist on dragging me along with you to that pagan land? I have better pursuits to while my time away than watching you play hide and seek with your Sindarin lover!”

“Harsh!” I complained as I looped my arm through hers. “Please, Artanis, for my sake. Melian is a wise woman who can teach you much. You would be lonely here. But in Doriath there are many young women of your age and station.”

“I care not. Our cousins are here and I am quite occupied. If indeed boredom strikes me, I shall travel east to Himring. Macalaurë and Maitimo are most convivial company. But I shall not accompany you to Doriath.”

Her stubbornness was legendary. I knew I could never persuade her with my arguments. In the end, I spoke in a quiet tone, “Irissë’s fate weighs down my soul, Artanis. Come with me, I beg you, if only to set this overprotective brother’s heart at ease. I could not bear the thought of you harmed when I am away. Please.”

“For you.” 

She shrugged and walked away, her proud, golden head unbowed. I swore to myself once again that I would never let her out of my sight. I would not fail her as a brother. I did not wish to take her to Doriath. But I had no choice. Atarinkë had laughed saying that Artanis would be equally safe with him in Nargothrond. It was true. But from what I had seen transpire between Russandol and Findekáno, I no longer trusted anyone. And I would not take the smallest risk in the case of my dear sister.

 

The journey to Doriath roused severe déjà-vu in me. Each tree that I passed seemed to hold its own place in my heart. The familiar strain of suppressed emotion and knife-edge anticipation was compounded by the time I had spent apart from Elu. I tried to hasten our pace as we rode towards the stronghold of the Sindar. 

“HALT!” 

Celeborn appeared before us, just as he had on my first arrival here. He did not even spare me a glance as he walked to my sister and bowed deeply, his eyes boldly roving over her form. I pushed my stallion between them and looked down at him angrily. How dare he stare at my sister so?

“And you had no qualms of your own when your eyes were measuring me on your first journey, Lord Finrod,” he said sardonically, his lips curling in superiority.

“Brother!” Artanis laughed as she looked at me incredulously. “Tell me you did not!”

“Oh, yes, he did, My Lady!” 

We had reached the courtyard. Nobody had come to greet us; another reminder of my first journey hither. Celeborn rushed to my sister’s horse before I could dismount and helped her down.

“Artanis is my name,” she told him smiling as she accepted his hand. 

My insides clenched as I saw her falling prey before my very eyes to his wiles. He had sealed Irissë ’s fate. I would not let him do the same to my sister’s life as long as I breathed.

“In our lands,” he began quietly, his eyes shining in earnestness as he held her gaze, “we have a tradition of bestowing a name on those we admire. A name immortalizes our object of admiration.”

“I would be honoured.” She met his gaze proudly, the tiara of the house of Finwë that crowned her head sparkling in the dappled sunlight which filtered through the treetops.

His eyes ran over her hair; the hair that still shone with the light of our homeland. With an expression akin to reverence gracing his face, he knelt on a single knee and pressed a chaste kiss on her hand.

“Altáriel, I would be honoured to name you Altáriel.” 

She smiled again, her cold blue eyes sparkling with fervent sincerity as she murmured, “It is I who stands honoured, Prince Celeborn.”

“Artanis,” I broke in dismayed. “We must see the King immediately. The hour grows late.”

“The King is impatient. Please do proceed immediately, Lord Finrod. I shall escort your lovely sister to the Queen, if she has no objection.” Celeborn’s words were polite and earnest. 

I glared at him. He returned it innocently. I could not forbid my sister to accompany him. It would merely stoke her fiery, stubborn nature. I was at a loss to do anything but to nod and murmur, “If Artanis has no objection.”

She smiled at me warmly saying, “Please, brother. I shall be content to join you later. The Prince shall escort me.”

He took her hand before my eyes. I suppressed a choking sound that rose from my throat. Her eyes were warm and young as they spoke merrily. I had never seen her so animated. Even with Macalaurë, she had been self-contained to an extent. But to see the facade of restraint falling away from her made me worry. Celeborn was a selfish soul. He would not hesitate to use her to achieve his own ends.

“Lord Elu waits,” an aide informed me curtly.

I made my way alone through the familiar passageways. Celeborn’s intentions towards my sister had quelled the better part of my anticipation to see Elu.

 

 

He was speaking with a young courtier when I entered. I could hear Luthien’s voice raised in song. It was exactly as it had been during my first visit as the emissary to this land. He dismissed the courtier and strode over to my side, a warm, welcoming smile on his lips.

“I have missed you.” I spoke aloud as we lay together in the aftermath of spent passion. We lay in his chamber, for our usual chamber was being furnished for the spring festival. Again a reminder of my first visit, I shifted uneasily. How things had changed.

I had lost all my diplomatic shields. With him, I was now open and frank. I did not even mind his curious questioning about the Silmarilli. With any other soul, a question about my uncle’s jewels would have made me bark a haughty reply. 

“It has been a hard time,” he said after a deep silence. He had changed. Or was it that I seemed to be paranoid about anything and everything?

“Your lands are not besieged. Melian’s enchantment holds,” I pointed out not without a trace of bitterness as I remembered what the enchantment had contributed to Irissë’s fate.

“Yes. Of late,” he turned to face me, his expression troubled, “Melian speaks of the call of the sea. She wishes to sail west, to Valinor.”

Valinor. I sighed. A place that had given birth to many of my happiest memories, of long hunts with my cousins and brothers, of grand dances and magnificent banquets, of long, easy days and of the pleasures of youth. Now I was a King. But a sudden black thought coiled about my heart. Stricken, I turned to meet his gaze.

“I will not sail.” He soothed me with a tender smile. “Too much remains here that I love. In any case, my place is with you. And you will not sail.”

“Cannot,” I corrected absently, my mind still lingering happily over his words ‘my place is with you’.

“Would you, if you could?” His wise gaze skewered my thoughts.

“No.” I admitted the truth. “I can never return. Valinor will never be the same to me as it was in my youth. I have changed too deeply.”

“Melian asked me not to sail.” He spoke quietly, as if hesitant to confide in me. “Because I love a kinslayer.”

I attempted to laugh weakly as I said, “True. Our house has never been one of the Valar’s favourites.”

“What do your cousins plan to regain their father’s jewels?” he asked thoughtfully. 

“Nothing can be done,” I sighed again. “With Findekáno as the King, the lands are yet to recover from the last war. We need to recoup before we attempt a fresh assault on Angband.”

“Perhaps the key lies in secrecy and not in warfare,” he suggested mildly. “Someone who knows the land well could attempt such an endeavour.”

“Neither Findekáno nor Russandol can be spared for such a reckless task.” 

I turned over to cease the disturbing line of conversation. I hated any mention of the Oath. If it had not been Elu, I would have stridden out of the room a long while ago. 

 

 

I walked in the woods quietly, reflecting over the changes that had happened in Doriath. Melian’s influence seemed to be waning and the traffic with the dwarves had increased. Celeborn had curtailed off the realm entirely, his patrols scouring the fences for intruders. The isolation from the rest of the world was pronounced now more than ever before. The divisions in the court too were very evident. Celeborn’s supporters were increasing in number and the Oropher-led pragmatists were disturbingly quiet. 

A gasp of breathless female laughter followed by low, masculine chuckling broke my line of thought. My sister. Frowning, I peered through the trees. I could see her slender silhouette leaning languidly against the bole of a tree. Before her, leaning in too close for comfort was Celeborn, their noses almost touching. In the light of the crescent moon, they seemed to be etched into the scene. I swallowed and began striding forward uneasily.

“I have never met a woman like you, Altáriel.” He was saying earnestly, his blue eyes shining with conviction.

“You are a flatterer,” she laughed away his compliment. 

But the slight shiver in her voice told me that she was not as unaffected as she pretended to be. Worried, I quickened my steps. I would be dead before I let him touch my sister. The reptile, how dared he!

“You are not a fool,” he whispered. 

He took her right hand in both of his own and stooped to press a kiss to her fingers. She inhaled sharply and her eyes closed. He brought her hand to his chest and pressed her palm flush against his heart.

“It beats for you.” His voice was broken with emotion. 

Then it happened. Her proud frame collapsed as she wrenched her hand back. Moonlight played mercilessly on her terrified features. I rushed to her side, uncaring of the curse Celeborn uttered. 

“Artanis?” I whispered as Celeborn rapidly wound his arm about her waist and steadied her. “You,” I turned to him angrily, “Unhand my sister!”

She recovered her composure even as Celeborn and I glared at each other. I growled and he spared me a disdainful scowl before walking away.

“Brother,” she began firmly, “I am alright. The prince was merely escorting me for a walk in these woods. His intentions were, and are strictly honourable.”

“Damn you, Artanis!” I shouted angrily, uncaring of the birds that took flight above us on hearing my raised voice. “He is a repulsive traitor! I shall not have his hands on you!”

I knew I had made a mistake. The fire of our house rose within her eyes and she lifted her chin defiantly. 

Hastily, I modified my statement. “I meant that I grow worried over his very obvious courting. This is not a match I can countenance.”

“He loves me,” she said simply.

“He is fickle in love, Artanis. He is not constant. I will not allow you to--”

“I love him.” Her words were weighed with determination and sincerity.

I staggered uneasily and whispered, “What did you say?”

“I love him.”

“Artanis!” I started panicked. “Please stop this. You are frightening me. Come now, we are leaving for Nargothrond immediately!”

“You cannot force me, brother.” Her eyes shone in fervent determination.

“I am your guardian and I can do whatever I think is in the interests of your welfare!” I ground out angrily as I grabbed her wrist and began dragging her.

“Unhand me this instant.” 

Her voice was cold and low. I flinched as if I had been struck, for so venomous was her icy tones. I turned to meet her unwavering, cold gaze.

“FINE!” I shouted furiously. “I shall see if your beloved prince will go against the edict of Elu and Melian. Will he dare to choose his love over his laws?”

“For me he shall do so.” 

The tone of her reply was maddeningly calm. I wanted to shake her and tell her that he was fickle. He would never be faithful. He did not deserve her. But I knew that I could not persuade her. I would see Elu and put an end to this madness.

 

 

“Forbid him!” 

I all but shouted as I paced before Elu. My fists were clenched into tight lumps as I restrained myself from seeking out Celeborn and challenging him to a duel.

“Finrod,” Elu began calmingly, “I shall speak with my nephew on this. I promised you I would.”

“FORBID HIM!” I shouted. “She has been taken in by his chivalrous side. You and I know how much he hates my family. What has possessed him? I will not allow my sister to marry someone who will spurn her the next day!”

“I cannot forbid him.” Elu sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “He is determined. Oropher tried to make him understand. But he refuses to give up Artanis. He would rather desert Doriath and disobey me than give her up. He loves her, Finrod.”

“Damn his love to Angband!” I cursed colourfully before muttering, “I am taking her away. I will not stand for any more of this madness.”

“You will simply earn her enmity,” Elu said sadly. “Finrod, you know you are not a diplomat when you are angry. Frankly, you will not endear yourself to her if you command her to leave. She is not like my daughter. She will fight to gain her end.”

“I don’t care.” 

 

“I shall not.” 

Her voice held the same maddening calm that made me want to pull my hair out in frustration.

“Believe me, Artanis, he is the last person in the world who deserves you!” I pleaded with her. “He is selfish and callous. He hates our family. He is not what he seems to be. He does not deserve you!”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, as you understand, I have had enough of those who can never love me even when I loved them to the extent of my own destruction. Celeborn loves me. I love him. I will marry him.”

“I repeat, I shall not countenance it!” I said in a low tone of suppressed anger.

“You need not. It is my life and I shall act as I see fit.” 

 

“She is right.” Elu sighed. 

“No, she is not.”

“Would you really deny her a chance to start life anew from all the destruction and doom that haunts your family?”

I cursed. I would not deny her that chance. I wanted her to be safe. I wanted her to be happy. And I was sure that these would never happen if she were to marry Celeborn. 

“So be it.” I conceded and buried my face in my hands. I had lost her too.

“Finrod.” He sighed as he placed a hand on my shoulder soothingly. “She is wise. And Celeborn is not as callous and selfish as you think him to be. They love each other. It shall be enough.”

“Solemnize their marriage, please.” I turned to plead. I gripped his arms tightly willing him to understand. He nodded sadly and pulled me into an embrace.

“If she is to start a new life, away from the fates of our family, I would not taint her wedding with my presence. I cannot. She deserves happiness. If Celeborn can give her that, I would willingly kiss his boots. But you will solemnize their marriage. I will content myself with that.”

“Thank you.” He whispered as I clung to him like a limpet.

“I trust you. Please...please, for me, beg Celeborn to keep her happy.” I screwed up my eyes as my voice broke hoarse. 

“I will. As long as I live, your sister shall never know unhappiness,” he swore fervently.

I sighed and ran my fingers over his torso, relearning the contours of his musculature. He held me closer as I kissed his collarbone. His hands began to rove over my body, insinuating themselves into my clothes.

I felt weary and torn. I had lost my sister. I felt hollow. Would life be ever the same, losing the ones I had come to love? I clung to Elu. I did not want to lose him too. But I knew I would. A kinslayer would never know happiness.

 

 

“Are you mad?” Atarinkë’s angry voice rankled on my sore nerves. 

We had been at loggerheads ever since my return to Nargothrond. Despite my reassurances that Artanis did love Celeborn, he failed to accept the fact. He had cursed me roundly for my failure to persuade her to see reason. He had always been protective of both Irissë and Artanis. Ever since Irissë’s disappearance, he had become paranoid about my sister’s welfare. The fact that he had arrived too late to prevent his wife’s slaughter in Alqualondë also made him overprotective of the women he loved. 

“Please.” I rubbed my forehead wearily. “Will you let it rest? You know how stubborn she can be? There was nothing anyone could have done.”

“That is what happened to Irissë!” He shouted as he paced the chamber furiously. “And Celeborn! I would have been more peaceful had it been Oropher! Celeborn is an incredibly selfish, conceited soul!”

“I know all that; I am not blind!” 

“You seem to act otherwise!”

We glared frostily at each other.

“My Lords.” 

I turned to the door. An aide waited there patiently. 

“What is it?” I asked irritably.

“Lord Macalaurë has arrived here in the course of his journey to Himring.”

 

“...So she told me that he was the perfect match for her, the stubborn fool!” I finished my sorry tale over wine even as an openly antagonistic Atarinkë muttered under his breath. 

Macalaurë spared his brother a fond glance before telling me thoughtfully, “You were angry and presumed to command her.”

“Yes, I admit that I was forceful.” I shrugged as I slapped Atarinkë’s hand away from the wine bottle as he pushed it away from me.

“A woman is not an adornment to be held and kept. Let her will command her choice and respect her spirit even should it lead her down a path of her own.” Macalaurë leant back and sipped his wine slowly, his aristocratic features deep in thought.

“I will leave you to your profound musings,” Atarinkë said as he brushed his tunic and stood up. “I have to retire. What are your plans, brother?”

“I need to return. I came to escort my wife to Círdan. The lands are not safe and though she said her convoy was sufficient, I would not relent.” Macalaurë smiled as I rolled my eyes at his actions which were in direct contrast to his thoughts on women.

“I will escort you to the borders then.” 

Atarinkë’s voice held no room for argument. I smiled. Macalaurë had always been protected too fiercely by his brothers. Though he was as fiery as his father had been, they seemed to think that his spare frame and general abhorrence of violence made me him warrant their protection. 

After Atarinkë had retired, I sighed and settled myself more comfortably on the couch. Macalaurë leant back in his chair and examined the stone murals. At least, I comforted myself, he did not have Russandol’s eerie preoccupation with the fire. My eldest cousin always stares into the flames as if he could wring secrets from the elements. It is rather unsettling.

“How are things?” I asked tentatively.

“He has those nightmares on a continual basis. One night, I could bear it no more and I went to him. Had to break open the chamber door since he bars it every night from within. I shook him awake and asked him.” His words trailed away as his black eyes darkened even more in reminiscence. 

“So did I. He refused,” I said miserably. Russandol would never let another know of his burdens as long as there was breath left in him. 

“He fixed me with that intense, eloquent gaze and we did not speak of the matter again. A part of me does not wish to hear of his dreams at all. I do not think I can survive the subject.” 

Macalaurë fell silent and twirled his goblet in his fingers introspectively. I closed my eyes as I thought of Russandol. 

 

Nolofinwë and Macalaurë had been begging Russandol to tell them what was tormenting his dreams so. He refused. Worried as they were, they continued pleading with him. One night, I had rushed alongside Macalaurë to Russandol’s tent awakened by his screams. Nolofinwë was already there. He was kneeling by the cot, begging his nephew to confide in us.

And Russandol had said in a haunted tone, his grey eyes lustrous and disturbed, “Do you know what I prayed for every time when I was taken to the brink of death? Do you know what I begged for whenever they tormented me in ways I do my best to forget? I cried to the unheeding Valar that you would never know, that your life would never be haunted, that your smile would never be shadowed. I wanted you to be happy, content and without a care. I would gladly have sworn myself to be Morgoth’s slave for an eternity and more if he had agreed to spare the rest of you. I still would.”

 

I will never forget the fervent gleam that shone in his eyes. He had meant every word that he had spoken.

I would gladly have sworn myself to be Morgoth’s slave for an eternity and more if he had agreed to spare the rest of you.

I know he would do it without a qualm. His resolve to spare the rest of us was what would one day be his downfall. 

“To the King who never shall be,” I whispered, raising the goblet with the deepest reverence I had ever felt in life.

“Indeed.” 

Macalaurë responded in kind, his goblet clinking against mine as he saluted my toast. In the firelight, the wine glowed deep crimson like my cousin’s hair...like blood. I drained my goblet at one go and then threw the goblet into the fire. 

“For luck,” I said quietly.

Macalaurë swallowed the contents of his goblet before throwing it into the fire. We watched as the flames crackled around the shards of glass. It was terrifying to see how something as beautifully wrought as a crystal goblet could be blackened and melted and made into nothing by the power of fire. 

A white fire burned in Russandol. Would it consume him in the same way our hearthfire had consumed and obliterated our goblets? 

 

×××

References:  
Marriage of Celeborn and Galadriel – ‘And Thus It Began’  
The white fire consuming Maedhros – ‘The Journal of Maglor’ Ch-11  
The nightmares that Maglor refers to – ‘The Journal of Fingolfin’ Ch-8  
The fate of Aredhel – ‘Wildfire’

* * *

“My Lord, a missive from the Queen Melian.” 

I rubbed my eyes as I reached across my workdesk to take the scroll from my aide’s hands. A very young lad, I thought absently as he bowed deep before retreating. More and more of our youth were being drawn into the armies to compensate the huge casualties that were our lot ever since the beginning of these constant sallies that our enemy made into our strongholds. Youth was stolen, I sighed wearily. 

Not for the first time, I pitied Russandol. His lands were heavily under attack at all times and he would often rue about how he was forced to bring barely-of-age warriors into his armies.

 

“They can scarcely lift their sword!” I smiled as I watched the antics of a young lad with a heavy sword that he was having trouble unsheathing.

Russandol sighed and called out, “Lad, bring it here.”

The boy flinched. Well, anyone in his position would have. My cousin was revered by the warriors. Russandol smiled at the lad and gently placed his hand over the boy’s arm guiding it into a smooth arc.

“This is how you try the sword, my young warrior.” Russandol gripped the boy’s hand and helped him execute a flawless sweep.

The boy was staring at Russandol awed and seemed too overwhelmed to do anything but that. I chuckled and folded my arms over my chest as I settled to watch the scene. 

“Thank you, Lord Prince.”

“Stay alive and I shall thank you, my friend.” Russandol left him to his sword practice and rejoined me.

 

I shook myself out of my dreary reverie and opened the scroll. Melian had never corresponded with me before. A small flicker of alarm rose in my guts. Then I quelled it forcibly. I would know instinctively if anything had happened to Elu, of that I was sure. 

But the worry persisted. Of late, my letters to Elu had been few. The concerns of my realm and the constant state of tension on the borders ensued that I had rarely any good tidings to write about. Also, I was mightily reluctant to send messengers who could be waylaid. If any hint of my deep regard for Elu was known to the enemy he would certainly not hesitate to utilize the weakness. 

“Cousin?” Atarinkë entered my chamber and seated himself across me, his eyes shining with concern as he took in my worried features. “I heard that there was a messenger from Doriath. Is all well there?”

“It is from the Queen.” I knew that my voice betrayed my uneasiness and fear. 

His eyebrows shot up as he weighed the probable consequences of Melian’s first letter to Nargothrond. Finally he looked up with a wan smile and said kindly, “Read on. Let us see what she has to say. Perhaps she wants you to come?”

I made a noncommittal voice in my throat and began reading aloud.

 

“...The son of Barahir has come to our land bearing a doom which shall be the deathknell for many. He has asked for Lúthien’s hand and my husband demanded a Silmaril as the brideprice. The man showed us the ring of your house which he claimed that you gifted his father in the war. I fear. I speak not as a Queen. Instead it is as Elu’s wife, my daughter’s mother and your friend that I write. I beg you not to receive the son of Barahir and provide him any aid in his cause. For his arrival is as that of the dragonflies which herald a storm...”

 

“THE GALL!” Atarinkë cursed as I reread her words. For Melian to be so affected, how severe must be the situation? It made me uneasy.

“Indeed.”

I dipped my quill in ink. I would reassure her and let the matter rest. Barahir’s son could not probably come to Nargothrond seeking my aid when he knew well that even Russandol had not yet waged a war for the Silmarils. I would put a watch on my borders and ask the warriors not to admit any wanderer. That would be the end of it. 

“How dare a mere man ask for the hand of Elwë’s daughter when even the princes of Doriath are spurned?” I asked rhetorically as I thought of the sheltered life that Elu and Melian had brought up Lúthien in. A Wildman coming and asking for her hand!

“There must be love,” Atarinkë said quietly, his fair features troubled. 

I harrumphed in disbelief. “That she could even bear the sight of someone like this grim man!”

“Physical charms can only ensnare the eyes. A mind can be captured and owned only by another mind. My brothers are an example.”

I leant back and kneaded my temples saying, “I hope that you are not saying that either Russandol or Macalaurë lack physical charms!”

He laughed outright. “I would never dream of saying thus. But the point I wished to make is that Macalaurë loves the dear fool for reasons far nobler than physical charm.”

I sniggered as I thought of my cousins. They were both too proud to ever descend from their lofty spheres and broach the matter that lay festering between them. Now that they were together in Himring, it would be interesting to say the least. 

“Come to the court. They await you. Orodeth is extremely unhappy over the new terms of the alliance with the dwarves. He accuses that you merely seek to use the dwarves as couriers for your letters to Elwë.”

“He is correct. But there is nothing he can do about it.” I yawned. “If he opposes the legislation, I shall send him to Carnistro. That will teach him to appreciate my virtues.”

“You are an insufferable tyrant.” 

“I enjoy every moment of it.”

He rolled his eyes and came to my side. I let him push my hair from my ears into a semblance of propriety. I had barely closed my eyes in appreciation of his warm fingers massaging my sore neck when a solid metallic something came to rest around the throat. 

“The Nauglamír.”

“Yes.” Atarinkë arranged my hair so that the necklace which the dwarves had gifted me shone resplendently. “You treasure it, cousin. But I rarely see you wearing it.”

“I look like a pet kitten in my natural state. Embellishing myself with an adornment as this makes me resemble a collared kitten.”

“Kept kitten?” Atarinkë laughed; his mirth spontaneous.

I rolled my eyes and shoved my chair backwards so that one of its legs crushed his toes. His laughter continued unabated despite it. 

 

“You look enthralling.”

Elwë and I had settled into that blissful precoital repose of longtime lovers. Serenity and a gentle longing which would never dry out characterized our relationship now. I was grateful. Elwë was fate’s greatest kindness to me. 

“I don’t,” I said irritably. “I look like a cat.”

He raised his eyebrows and cupped my chin fondly. “When you pout so, I cannot deny that you look feline. I love cats, you know.”

“I hate them,” I said conversationally. “I have always liked rustic, uncivilized wanton elves who live in caves.”

“It is a fair division. You have your own cave-elf and I possess a kitten.”

A hand ghosted over my spine eliciting a low moan from my lips. 

“Distinctly feline.” He closed the gap and met my lips with his own.

 

“You are dithering again.” I managed to keep my temper under tight rein as Orodeth continued to give utterly unacceptable excuses for delaying the alliance with the dwarves. “As you know,” I began in a level tone, “Lord Russandol wishes to secure as many allies as can be mustered. The dwarves are willing to fight for our cause.”

“Not our cause!” Orodeth said sharply. “Their cause. We have no quarrel with Angband and we have sworn no oath. It is not our concern and I refuse to let our people ride to war for the cause of the Fëanorions!”

“If my brother could sacrifice the throne for the sake of unity, you can lead the warriors into battle!” Tyelkormo burst in angrily. 

“Tyelkormo,” I began mildly. It would do no good to make an enemy out of my nephew. He was often irascible and Tyelkormo ’s quicksilver temper would not help matters should they get out of hand. I glanced at Atarinkë who looked concerned. 

“We need allies. We will fight alongside our cousins. We followed my uncle out of Tirion to avenge our king. We have an oath too, nephew.”

He did not reply. Atarinkë was about to speak when an aide entered announcing the arrival of a guest to the realm. The necklace that Atarinkë had insisted upon felt heavy on my throat. Curious, since it had never before felt thus.

“Beren, son of Barahir, comes to the throne of Nargothrond seeking aid.” 

The man was grim, dour and poorly arrayed. I could hear Atarinkë clearing his throat in irritation. I resisted the urge to do the same. Beren, son of Barahir, was the last person on Middle-Earth that I wished to see then. 

“Your border guards had instructions to turn him away.” There was malice in Orodeth’s voice. “I happened to be on the border for inspection and I ensured that he would be granted an audience before you.”

“Orodeth!” Atarinkë began hotly, his eyes flashing in ire at my nephew’s foolhardiness. 

I took a deep breath to calm myself as the man began to speak eloquently about his deep love for Lúthien.

“Will you aid me, My Lord, to win the brideprice that Elwë has set?” He ended his long tale. 

I beg you not to receive the son of Barahir and provide him any aid in his cause.

“I am Elwë’s ally, Lord Beren.” 

I was Elu’s ally and more. I could not help a man who wished to wed the daughter whom Elu loved so deeply. I could not help a man who wanted my aid to win a Silmaril; not when my cousins were bound by oath to reclaim the jewels.

“You vowed to my father that you would succour his house in the time of need just as he succoured you in the time of your greatest need.” The man’s voice was disturbingly quiet. “Would you renege on your vow when the hour of need has dawned upon my house?”

“It is not a need.” I had shed all notions of civility and chivalry. I saw the yawning darkness before me. The oath was at work again. “It is a whim, a fancy, name it what you may. You desire her as a child longs for the moon.”

“Uncle!” Orodeth cut in. “His love for Lúthien is deep and constant unlike the fickle nature of many who claim to be devoted each other!”

“Be that as it may, I am a King and have my duties to our land. I cannot abandon the welfare of my people to take up the cause of doomed love.” 

 

My cold voice should have put an end to this increasingly irritating debate. But both Orodeth and Beren seemed undaunted. Tyelkormo was growing uneasy and cast worried glances at his brother. I knew their fear. The oath lingered in their hearts. 

 

“I returned for you.” Russandol whispered in his pain-induced delirium.

Macalaurë sighed as he passed a wet cloth over his brother’s forehead to alleviate the fever. I was sitting sprawled in a chair across him, my fingers tangling of their own accord in Russandol’s unruly curls. 

“You returned for the Oath.” Macalaurë muttered under his breath even as his musician’s fingers gently probed the slow-healing wounds.

“No.” Pain thickened my cousin’s voice. “I returned so that you are spared the burden of leading the Oath.”

 

Much grief had been wrought in my family because of the Oath. I would be damned if I were to let my actions add more. 

“I call upon you to fulfil the vow you made to my father!” Beren implored me.

“Uncle.” Orodeth’s voice held no quarter. “It is a question of honour.”

“I do not care.” My voice had never sounded so brittle; not even when the kinslaying had taken place at Alqualondë.

“Would you be an oathbreaker as well as a kinslayer, uncle?” 

“If I embark on such a quest would you follow me, nephew-mine?” 

“The kingdom needs a caretaker.”

The trap had been sprung neatly. I met Atarinkë’s eyes. They held resignation and a shade of despair. 

“We shall accompany you, cousin.” Tyelkormo’s proud voice did not falter in the least. “Let us ride to Himring and seek my brother’s counsel.”

Orodeth cut in saying, “The Lord of Himring cannot offer you counsel, uncle. And I beg you not to allow your cousins to accompany you on this quest. Their oath will drive them to extreme actions.”

“The jewels are ours by right!” Atarinkë spoke harshly. “How dare you insinuate otherwise!”

“The jewels belong to those who dare to embark on such a quest for reasons nobler than avenging a mad father’s pride!” Orodeth retorted angrily. 

Tyelkormo unsheathed his sword and exclaimed, “Be he friend or foe, whether demon of Morgoth, of Elf, or child of Men, or any other living thing in Arda, neither law, nor love, nor league of hell, nor might of the Valar, nor any power of wizardry, shall defend him from the pursuing hate of Fëanor's sons, if he take or find a Silmaril and keep it. For the Silmarils we alone claim, until the world ends.”

“The cursed oath should not be spoken aloud in these hallowed halls!” Orodeth unsheathed his sword and drew forth. 

Hastily Atarinkë and I restrained him. There was nothing to be done, I realized sadly. I had sworn a vow and I was forced to honour it. 

I threw down my crown angrily at Orodeth’s feet and hissed, “Be their king! Well and deep have you betrayed me, nephew. If this is kinship, I would not call kinslaying a sin!”

 

 

“Himring!” I shouted exasperatedly at Beren.

“Lord, with due respect, I beg to differ. The western pass is easier.”

“Sauron keeps watch there, Beren.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “His guile is without par. We cannot hope to evade detection. Himring is the easier route. We can beg my cousin for counsel. He knows Angband.”

“We will not seek the aid of the one-handed Fëanorion. They say he is insane!” Beren hissed in disagreement. 

“I assure you he is not. At least not in the sense you think he is.” I shot him a hopeful glance. “Shall we ride to Himring? Or at least, let us ride to the High-King. Findekáno knows the land.”

“No, I do not trust the fey lord of Himring or the counsel of the high-king, who is said to be his acolyte.”

“The pass to the west it shall be.” I sighed. “Why cannot you bow into my experience?”

“Because if you have judged incorrectly, I will lose Lúthien. It will prompt more than mere regicide on my part.” 

 

 

“The western pass.”

Atarinkë cursed as he pored over the maps of the land. “It is Sauron’s stronghold, cousin. Russandol has always held that the cunning fiend is thrice as hard to trick than Morgoth himself.”

“Hmm...” I made a noncommittal voice as I collapsed onto the rug and laid my head against Atarinkë’s thigh. His fingers absently moved in my fall of hair. I closed my eyes and sighed. 

Tyelkormo’s hound came to our side and began nuzzling my ears. The creature has always held a deep fondness for my ears. I pushed it away fondly. As much as I appreciated the gesture of affection, I did not care much for canine saliva seeping into my ear canal.

“Could we persuade Elwë to change his mind about the brideprice?” Atarinkë was once again mulling over the options. 

It was the eve before the departure. His fears, I understood and shared. The western pass would be virtually equivalent to delivering ourselves into Sauron’s lair. Himring was the only feasible path. But both Beren and Orodeth argued furiously against it. I was outvoted. 

“You know we cannot...I want to see Artanis,” I murmured softly, wishing that I could remain where I was, my cousin’s fingers slowly threading through my hair, the fire warming the chamber and the hot breath of the hound making me feel safe.

“Hmm...”

“And Russandol.” My voice broke slightly on my cousin’s name. Atarinkë’s fingers tightened in my hair.

“...And Elu. I want to see Elu.”

My voice failed, rasping disgracefully. Atarinkë dragged me to face him. I opened my eyes. I wished immediately that I had not, for his gaze was lustrous and I had never seen that before, except when he had held his wife’s slain form in his hands during the massacre of Alqualondë. 

“Cousin,” he whispered before we embraced.

 

 

“Haste makes waste.” I quoted glibly as we rushed through the western pass disguised as orcs. 

Too poor a disguise, I decided. My sharp eyes could easily discern many a flaw in our attire. If we were waylaid and questioned, I knew we would not last. Then again, choices were limited. 

“Himring,” I began as I looked east. I wanted nothing more than to drag this sorry bunch to my cousin and stay put there until Russandol thought of a more feasible plan.

“Is not our path. The lord of Himring is insane and fey!” Beren began exasperatedly. “How many times must we debate, King Finrod?”

“My cousin is not mad. I pity your ignorance, Beren.” I sniffed in disdain and concentrated on the path before us. 

“It is said that he is the High-King’s catamite!” Beren spoke harshly as he examined the surround carefully before beckoning us to make for cover.

“He is not--”, I broke off my words as I remembered the night I had found him in Findekáno’s tent. I continued half-heartedly, “My cousin is the noblest soul who has walked this earth. Nothing will change that.”

Of course, Beren did not hear my words as orcs swarmed into the valley. I cursed fluently and drew out my sword. Our disguise would not stand close inspection. 

Outnumbered, clumsily attired in orc gear and provided with orcish weapons, I suppose it was really no surprise that we were caught so easily. 

“VARDA!” I screamed as I was pushed down to the ground by our captors. It had escaped my lips in an extremity of fear and anger. 

“NO!” Beren cursed as he met the same fate. I realized my folly too late. Calling out the name of Varda would mark me for what I am; an exiled Noldo. 

 

“VARDA!”

Russandol was screaming as the knife-edged pain burst through his body. Findekáno and I held him down even as Macalaurë and Artanis cleansed his skin with the concentrated salt solution. The festering pustules broke as his body rubbed against the sheets and he screamed again, Varda’s name on his broken lips. Blood trickled down his chin as he bit down on his lips sharply to stifle his next scream. His eyes were screwed shut, but tears trickled down his cheeks.

“She will not hear your plea, brother. Do not waste what little energy you have.” Macalaurë chastised him.

“She cannot be so heartless.” Russandol managed to whisper between pants of ragged breathing.

Artanis began applying a salve on the deep wound on his thigh and he threw his head back in pain, a soft groan escaping him.

“Your condition proves that she lacks a heart,” Macalaurë said quietly.

 

He was right. He had always been right. The Valar are heartless. Calling out for them is folly. Those were probably the last thoughts I had before the hilt end of a scimitar hit my head and I fell unconscious.

* * *

“Who are you?” He demanded as the orcs flogged Beren and my companions with cat o’ nine tails. 

I did not reply. Sweat broke on Beren’s forehead as a cruel strike made him collapse in his bonds. His eyes met mine, pleading and forbidding at the same time. 

“I could prolong this for days and weeks, elf. But you know that in the end I shall win. What pleasure will it bring you to see your friends tortured?”

“You will not offer us freedom if I divulge our errand,” I spat in Quenya, my eyes holding the amused gaze of our captor. 

“I can grant you a fast death, Finwion.” A cold smirk graced his lips as my eyes widened in shock. “Yes, I can sense your grandfather’s blood in you. I can grant you a death in this tower which was once built by your orders. If not, I would take you to Angband. Do you think you can outlast my master’s will? He will rejoice to host another of your illustrious, damned house. He missed your cousin so. Never mind, you shall do finely. Your cousin was too compliant to coercion. All it took was a captured thrall’s scream and your fine cousin would beg us to do anything to him so that the fellow-prisoner was spared. If the thrall was young, then it would not even need a scream to prompt Nelyafinwë’s willing surrender.” 

I shuddered as I remembered Russandol’s travails in that hell. My companions looked every inch as terrified as I felt. 

 

“Sing for me, Macalaurë.” Russandol looked up at his brother.

I had been sparring with Macalaurë lazily. Russandol lay on the grass, watching us with eyes shaded against the bright midday sun. I shared a smile with Macalaurë as we took in the languid ease with Russandol stretched. Across us, a few maidens plucking mushrooms giggled and coyly watched his handsome figure in repose. 

“A bevy of enchanting admirers, cousin,” I teased him, nudging his side with my boot. 

Russandol turned to watch them and smiled, his grey eyes sparkling with bittersweet recollections. 

“They would torture such young children there...” He sighed. “I did never learn to keep my calm when they did that.”

“Shall I sing?” Macalaurë asked gently, sitting beside his brother. 

“Please. It is the most purifying thing.” 

 

Pride and passion rose in me as I began to sing the same song which Macalaurë’s melodious voice had graced that day. I sung of bravery, valour and hope. I sung of freedom, joy and fearlessness. I sung of love. 

Sauron laughed coldly and began to sing a dark, gloomy lay that wound despair and sorrow in my heart. Hopelessness consumed me as his song gathered strength. Before me, Beren screamed in pain as the torture started again. I had failed. I had failed terribly. Darkness devoured my strength.

 

“I cannot go any further,” I whispered as we mourned the death of Turkáno’s wife. “Too many have we lost, Artanis.”

“We cannot stop. We cannot desert our uncle and our cousins. We go on.” Her voice was unwavering.

“I cannot!” I hissed angrily and pulled her to face me. “I will not watch yet another child die of starvation and frostbite!”

“You and I are children of Finwë!” Her blue eyes blazed with conviction. “We shall not fail. We shall never admit defeat! We shall not give up hope.”

 

I inhaled sharply and began to sing again. Of hope undying and peace lasting. Sauron laughed again and continued his dark song. My lips fell silent once again as my mind lay conquered by his power.

 

I shivered as the song died on Elu’s lips. He was staring at the night skies, his brows frowning in thought. I had spent days and nights wondering how he would treat me. Now, he was before me in flesh and blood. And I stood like a stone, stricken to the core by the song.

 

Elu... I summoned the last of my courage and will. I would not give in. I began to sing the powerful words that he had sung so long ago on a starry night under the trees of Doriath.

 

“Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,  
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;  
Of changing and shifting shape,  
Of snares eluded, broken traps,  
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.”

 

He shrieked in pain and fear as I sung of love and hope. My voice rose in power and potency as my spirit revived. Thoughts of Elu filled my heart and the fear left me. I closed my eyes and remembered the warmth of his eyes, the heat of his flesh and the lushness of his voice. Calm washed over me and I opened my eyes. Sauron stood before me terrified. A victorious grin lurked at the corners of my mouth as I noticed his fear. 

It was then that the cynical part of my mind rose to say its part. What would Elu say if he heard that I was thinking of him when engaged in a battle with Sauron? I lost track of my thoughts as I digressed.

I realized my mistake only when a raucous peal of laughter pervaded the chamber. I stared at him stricken. My lapse in concentration had been ample for him to spin his sorcery again. His powerful song ravaged my mind until I screamed and fell at his feet prostrate and unconscious. 

 

Stirrings of consciousness flickered vaguely in my throbbing head. I groaned in pain and curled into a foetal position. 

“King Finrod?” A persistent voice was accompanied by a persistent hand nudging my aching ribs. “King?” 

I groaned again and screwed my eyes shut. 

“Finrod!” 

The voice held raw panic. My heart lurched in sympathy and I opened my eyes to see Beren staring at me fearfully.

“You are alive,” he breathed in relief.

“If to feel pain is to be alive, I would rather not be,” I muttered unkindly under my breath before summoning my ‘innate’ nobility as people call it. I suppose I should clarify at this late point that I do not really possess an inch of innate nobility. It is merely an act. “Are you harmed, Beren? What of the others?”

“They are being lined up for torture.” He looked pale and horrified. “I heard the orcs saying that Sauron plans to save you for the last. He wants to take you to Angband.” 

I shuddered and Beren nodded darkly. With his aid, I sat up and gingerly rested my head against the walls of the dungeon. The others were cooped up in a huddle across us. Their low moans of pain testified to the cruelty of Sauron’s methodical torture. 

“What is that?” I hissed as my eyes spotted twin gleams of yellow in the infernal darkness. 

“What?” Beren rose to his feet and looked at the direction in which I pointed a shaky finger. 

A low snarl answered us and one of my warriors screamed as fangs dug into his shoulder and dragged him down. I shouted and made to stand. But my body failed me and I collapsed ungracefully on the ground. Beren and the rest of the warriors rushed to the victim’s rescue. But the wolf howled in warning and stalked forward. The warriors fell back and the creature dug its fangs into the victim again. 

I have never seen anything as frightening as the wolf eating the warrior alive. His screams continued into the early dawn as the wolf clawed out his entrails and feasted on them. I vomited and cursed as the wolf gorged on the yet living body. I believe it was Beren who finally threw a dagger that had been hidden deep within his hair and slew the warrior. The wolf continued its gorging uncaring of the interruption.

“Kinslaying is a crime for our kind.” Edrahil, one of my warriors, told Beren quietly as the wolf retreated satiated.

Beren shook his head and said in a haunted voice, “There are worse fates than death.”

“But we have no right to dispense death and judgment.” Edrahil persisted. 

“There is mercy in a clean death by a swordbrother’s hand.” Beren’s voice was unruffled by doubt.

 

“He begged me to kill him,” Findekáno clenched his fists as we waited for the healers to come out of the chamber.

I stared at him in shock. He nodded and continued hoarsely as if still living the nightmare that had taken place, “He clung to me and cradled my face with his good hand all the while begging me to kill him. He said that it was the greatest kindness I could do for him.”

 

 

I watched in helpless horror as the orcs dragged in a young, human girl. She looked nearly insensate with fear. They threw her onto the ground before me and awaited Sauron’s command. 

“NO!” I shouted as Sauron lazily flicked his hand in assent. The orcs rushed forth and began their game. The girl screamed in pain and fear as it started.

“NO!” I fell to my knees before Sauron. “I shall do ANYTHING you want, spare her, I beg you.”

“There’s much to be said about the theory that similar situations bring out similar responses in those related by blood. I am fascinated by these hereditary traits.” His boot traced my spine lazily. I stiffened, but held my position. The orcs had stopped and now the only sound was the panting of the frightened girl.

“Spare her.” I begged him again.

“What is your errand?”

“I shall tell you everything. Spare her.”

“My orcs have been affected by the atmosphere. They need a vessel to slake their lust or there shall be trouble. I am afraid that those of your companions who remain are in no condition to survive the brunt of orcish affection. The girl will live. I shall make sure of it. But her services are required.” 

I stared up at his cold eyes and gulped. 

 

“There was never a choice.” Russandol had told me. “It was either the children or I. I could never have stood by and watched them suffer, not as long as I remained sane.”

 

“Use me.” 

The words escaped my lips easier than I had expected them to. I shivered as his gaze bore down upon me. So this was what it felt like, to lose all choices. I wanted to die. I wanted to rush and hide in Russandol’s embrace. I wanted to be held by Elu.

Sauron laughed. “That part comes later, grandson of Finwë. For now, the girl shall suffice. Your engagement to provide my orcs sport will happen, rest assured.”

“My secret shall not leave my lips then, you fiend!”

“I relish watching broken people who insist that they are not broken. All it takes is one tiny shift of balance to unhinge them.”

“My cousin did not break! And neither shall I!”

“There is no need to expend all your fervent declarations of defiance right now. You might need them in Angband, trust me. I frankly admire your cousin’s will in having lasted alive as long as he has.”

“You poisoned him!”

“It did not work unfortunately. He seems to have an excellent constitution.” Sauron shrugged. “Morgoth was extremely surprised when he heard of the White Flame of Himring. We had not expected your cousin’s tenacity. ”

“I shall not break.” It was a declaration from the very depths of my being.

“You shall. Though I don’t need to break you to know your secrets, I shall relish doing so. I do not get such excellent sport everyday.”

 

“Are you thinking of your love across the sea?” Beren asked me.

We were alone. The last of those who had been captured. I looked at my grimy hands and sighed. I had no wish to launch into the intricacies of my personal affairs.

“I cannot help thinking of my beloved.” I rued the wistful tone in which he spoke those words. “There exists none as beautiful as her.”

“That is what I thought once of Amarië. I do not think so now.” I shrugged, the habitual cynicism emerging in me.

“No, I shall always think so of Lúthien come what may!” Beren exclaimed in fervent passion.

Did I really have to be tortured by the raptures of his lovelorn speeches? I groaned in weariness. At least Elu had never put me through such romantic nonsense. I loved him all the more for it.

“You are thinking of her, of your love beyond the sea.” Beren made a radiant deduction.

“Brilliant!” I had to congratulate him. 

A low howl broke our conversation. The wolf had returned. Beren stiffened beside me. It had come for him this night. I knew it instinctively. Sauron had wanted to save me for the last. He wanted to take me to Angband. The rest were expendable.

Angband. The wolf was drawing closer, its eyes gleaming in the darkness. I knew what I had to do. I did not have the will to face Angband. I would break apart easily. 

 

“Stay proud, cousin. Stay proud till the end. Remember what we were once. That is the only solace that I can give you. Stay proud, stay fearless, burn with the fire of our house till the very end.”

 

“VARDA!” 

I shouted as I pushed Beren aside and launched myself at the wolf. The bonds that held me broke and I threw myself between the human and the animal. The creature cocked its head in confusion at the unexpected situation and howled. 

“NO, FINROD!” Beren screamed as I used my bare hands to grapple for a hold on the wolf’s throat.

The creature’s survival instincts overrode its obedience to Sauron as I had hoped it would. It howled and twisted its head to break my hold. Claws dug into my flesh and I screamed. But I did not relinquish my hold. Foul stench overpowered my senses as the maws came to meet my torso. I yelled in pain.

 

“Please...Please...” someone was calling my name in deep anguish. I floated on the dim precipice of awareness and darkness.

Something in me knew that I had to meet the fearful eyes above me. Tears ran down Beren’s face as he cradled my torn face in his hands.

“Don’t die!” He implored me.

“Plead to the Gods. You will escape. Go to your bride and wed her. Tell Elu that...” I broke off. “Tell him that I have done all that I could. Tell him it was my last wish that you wed Lúthien.”

“Don’t die. I will take you to Himring...Please.” He was begging me.

Consciousness was fast withdrawing from my mind. I tried to smile as I said, “It is too late to take my advice. The next time your elders offer you counsel, accept-”

 

 

I was riding along the periphery of the woods in my uncle’s lands. I could espy the smoke that rose high in the air. A bonfire. 

“Hail, Findaráto!” Atarinkë laughed as he rushed to meet me. 

Artanis and Macalaurë were walking hand-in-hand, their faces relaxed and happy. Atarinkë pushed me to a seat on the log. Turkáno came to stand behind me and shoved a chunk of roasted meat into my hands.

“Nolofinwë cooks well,” I remarked drolly as I bit into the poorly roasted meat. 

Tyelkormo and Irissë were dancing merrily before the campfire. I leant back against Turkáno’s chest as I watched them lazily. Nolofinwë was commandeering the cooking, a puzzled expression on his fair features. I smiled. His willingness to take up any task was once more evident. Curufinwë was excitedly speaking with Findekáno. I smiled at my uncle’s unfailing enthusiasm and searched the scene for someone I loved much.

“There he is!” Tyelkormo shouted as Russandol rode into the clearing escorting our grandfather and my father.

Finwë and Arafinwë smiled at the unruly lot before moving to help Nolofinwë with the cooking. Russandol stared into the fire longer than was warranted before smiling and joining in our revelry.

“Let me tell your future!” Artanis laughed as she dragged my hand onto her lap.

“Really, Artanis!” I adopted the wounded tone of the long-suffering elder brother. 

She did not pay attention as she traced the lines on my palm with a long, graceful finger. Her features drew into a frown before she proclaimed daintily, “He shall marry a Noldorin carpenter’s daughter and engender eight children with her!”

“Be careful!” Russandol laughed along with the rest of them. “We cannot have you scoring more than my parents!”

“I have no intentions to!” I shouted back good-naturedly. “Eight, indeed!”

“I will do a better forecast.” Turkáno, ever one to compete with Artanis, drew my hand into his.

“You shall leave Tirion and go into those harsh lands of the east. There you shall live, love and lose.”

His voice shook as he spoke. I flinched and drew my hand back.

“Turkáno?” Russandol asked concernedly.

“It was nothing. I merely wanted to spook him.” Turkáno laughed in mischief.

After a few moments of sulky indignation, I had to join the all too contagious laughter of my family that rung in the glade. 

Macalaurë began to sing a lay he had composed himself and one by one, all of us joined him in song. Our voices rose clear and proud in the air. I leant back and watched my family. In the golden radiance of Laurelin, they were fey, unconquerable and unmarred. Pride filled my heart as I watched those noble profiles softened by the bonds of familial love.

 

 

“Across the sea, there is a land under the starlit skies,  
Between the shore and the high mountains a placid lake lies.  
‘Twas there that it all began, under the eaves of the woods,  
He met a woman and loved her more than his heart could.

O Lands of the East! O Lands beyond the Sea! What secrets do you hold?  
Would you yield your treasures to souls true and bold?  
We yearn for truth, for freedom and for knowledge unbound.  
We yearn for love so pure and true to yield our hearts bound.

Be at a court, or in a war, or in the face of death, or in a bower  
I shall not lose, nor shall I want, for in my blood is fire!  
Be I alone, be I in peril, be I doomed that I can sink no lower  
I shall not fear, nor shall I cry, for I am a child of Finwë!”

 

The song died gracefully, Macalaurë’s voice seemed to be molten gold as he carried it to its crescendo at the end. We were quiet as the spell woven by his voice lingered gently in the air. A sudden tightness made its presence felt in my heart. I looked around. Turkáno was clearing his throat and Artanis seemed pensive. Russandol was staring into the fire thoughtfully. 

“I wish we could remain thus forever!” Curufinwë spoke abruptly, his eyes flashing with wistfulness.

Nolofinwë placed his hand over his brother’s and said quietly, “I promise you, it shall be thus forever.” 

 

** Chapter End Notes: 

Massive crossreferencing back and forth in The Sunset AU.

Poem-The song Maglor sings is my own creation.  
The song of Finrod-Lay of Leithian-Release from Bondage.

* * *


End file.
